


Murder at Home

by Triskellion



Series: NCIS Home Pack [31]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, F/M, M/M, Season/Series 04, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-01-17 12:57:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 47,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1388491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triskellion/pseuds/Triskellion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU but following canon events: A series of thefts around Virginia and Maryland may prove to be something far more deadly and dangerous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Title: Murder at Home  
Series: [Home](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/82075.html)  
Author: [](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/)**triskellion**  
Rating: R  
Word Count: 5645/37,000+  
Spoilers: None  
Warnings: It's slash, but you won't see that here  
Disclaimer: They're not mine, pretty as I find them. Go to the producers if you want to talk money.  
Summary: AU but following canon events: A series of thefts around Virginia and Maryland may prove to be something far more deadly and dangerous.

Abby's call was a life saver. Tim was about ready to put his head through his monitor in sheer frustration. Everything had been so slow today, and yesterday, and the day before. The office had been dead ever since they'd sent Ruby home and finished interrogating those two wannabe Iraqi terrorists. If he had to call one more pawn broker about Gibbs' pet cold case, he was going to go postal. Tony had given up on both research and phone calls and started playing computer games an hour ago, even though Gibbs was sitting across the way. And that was after the senior agent had run out of pawnshops in Peoria and Philly to call, or at least that's what it had sounded like. He'd done Baltimore yesterday. Ziva had started making phone calls in foreign languages right after lunch, and while he had no idea what she was saying, Tim had a feeling they had nothing to do with the cases they were all beating their heads into.

So when Gibbs put the phone down saying, “Abby has something,” the whole team was more than ready to follow him into the elevator.

“Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs,” Abby cried excitedly when she heard the team come through the door. Tim and Tony shared a smile as they watched the forensic tech launch herself at their boss. 

“What'cha find Abs?” Tony asked in a tone one might use on a hyper dog, clapping his hands excitedly in time with Abby's bouncing.

“Behave,” Gibbs snapped generally, but it was Tony he slapped on the back of the head. “Abby?” he added, drawing everyone's attention away from Tony's exaggerated pain and back to the forensic tech.

“Okay, well I was bored,” she babbled at full tilt. “Things are slow for every team, so I was going back over all the evidence on your home invasion cases, and I dug up a few more that other teams caught that look similar.”

“Send McGee the file numbers,” Gibbs ordered, and Tim made a note in his PDA to follow up with Abby.

“Right, so, I was comparing the evidence, of which there is a disgusting dearth,” Abby complained. Tim groaned softly. That exact dearth of evidence was what he'd been ready to beat his head into his computer monitor over. “Whoever this guy is, he's really careful.”

“If it is the same person,” Ziva interrupted. 

Tim glared at her. That had been the big argument for the last few months, and he did not want to hear it started up again, not now.

“I've got evidence that says it is,” Abby said proudly.

Tony began making an odd noise that Tim finally identified as a drum roll, or at least something like it. It made Abby happy anyway.

“The most recent case used the same gun as the one six months ago that Agent Bollman's team caught,” Abby announced at the end of the drum roll. “And the one before that used the same gun as the case three months ago that Agent Cassidy caught.”

“But not the same gun for all four?” Gibbs asked for confirmation.

“No,” Abby agreed.

“Well, then we know there were two people who did home invasions twice, or the guns are being handed around the gang,” Tim said.

“Or the killer is cycling through his gun supply and just started over,” Tony suggested.

“It's enough to ensure all the cases are turned over to us,” Gibbs announced. “I need a formal report for the Director.”

“I need an hour or so, but you'll have it before end of business,” Abby assured him.

~o0o~

Tony was half way to Jeanne's when Gibbs called. This meant he was ten minutes in the right direction to go to the crime scene. Unfortunately, it also meant he was fifteen minutes the wrong direction from all his gear. Explaining this did not go over well with Gibbs, at all.

“It's all the undercover work,” Tony tried to explain. “It's just been safer not to keep any gear in the car, just in case it's searched.”

“You do have your badge and gun?” Gibbs snapped, his words more of a demand than a question.

“Of course,” Tony replied sharply. He wasn't so far gone that he'd leave those at home. He just didn't have his backpack kit.

Gibbs sighed harshly. “Crime scene. Now,” he ordered, the sound of an engine starting in the background. “I'll see you there.”

Before Tony could ask for clarification, the connection was cut from the far end. He knew on one level he should turn back, get his backpack. Turning up at a crime scene without even his NCIS jacket and cover would not fit regulations and could get him in a world of trouble if the Director found out. On the other hand, he had his orders. 

At the next light, he turned south.

~o0o~

Tim was at home when the call came, blissfully, peacefully at home. In front of his computer. With nice hot takeout and everything.

But when Gibbs called, no was not an option. Which was how he found himself driving to Potomac Hospital to collect evidence from what might be their first surviving victim in this string of home invasion robberies.

After getting finger and boot prints from the paramedics who brought the victim in, Tim was directed to wait in the family room, Gibbs' directive to “Get the bullets by any means necessary,” ringing in his ears. He was not warned, however, about the company he found in the family room—a young woman, covered in blood, who was only sitting upright because that was the military trained default position of her spine.

“Excuse me, I'm Special Agent McGee, NCIS,” Tim said politely as he came into the room. “Are you here for Gregory Peck?”

“Yes,” she said firmly, looking over with eyes glassy with shock. “I'm Lance Corporal Amanda Daws, his son's fiancée ...” Her voice cut off as she swallowed hard, tears building in her eyes. “Or I was,” she said with heartbreaking finality.

“I'm sorry,” Tim said softly. “I don't know the whole situation. I was just sent directly here. Forgive me, but, how did you get all that blood ...” He trailed off, trying to figure out a polite way to say it.

“Greg was still alive ...” Amanda said into the silence. “I've got some medic training, did what I could until the EMTs arrived.”

Tim stared for a moment, uncertain of what action to take next. He could thank her, but to do so would require exposing information about the case, and Gibbs would kill him. He could keep her company, but he needed her clothes as evidence. Gibbs did say to get all evidence at the hospital and to stay until he was sure he had every scrap.

“Can you wait here a moment?” he asked, realizing the right plan of action. She just nodded jerkily, but that was enough for now. It only took a few minutes to find a nurse in the halls, and Nurse Brenda was more than willing to help out the lovely girl that had come in the ambulance.

“Amanda?” Tim called as he came back into the family room. “I'm sorry, I need your clothes as evidence. But Brenda here says they have some scrubs that you can change into, and you can use the locker room to clean up.”

Amanda looked down at her blood stained hands, the red patches beginning to flake around the joints, and stifled a sob. “That sounds good,” she said. “Will you be here ...? Mary should be arriving soon.”

“Mary?” Tim prompted. 

“Greg's wife,” Amanda said, her eyes tearing up again. “I called her from the ambulance. It's her bridge night ...”

“I'll come with you to get your clothes, but then I'll come right back here and wait for Mary,” Tim assured her.

~o0o~

When Tony arrived at the address Gibbs had given him, his boss was standing next to his car pulling something out of the open trunk. Dodging the emergency vehicles that were funneling out of the street, Tony pulled up his car as close as he could to his alpha and walked quickly to Gibbs' side.

“Boss ...” Tony began, but was cut off when Gibbs shoved an NCIS jacket into his arms. His NCIS jacket, actually. Tony recognized the singe on the left sleeve where he'd brushed it against his gun too soon after firing a few months back. He glanced past Gibbs and spotted his backpack kit sitting in the open trunk.

“Thanks, boss,” Tony said, pulling on the jacket even as he wondered just how fast the older man had driven to swing by Tony's apartment and still beat the shifter to the scene.

Gibbs plopped a matching cover on Tony's head before jerking his chin towards the house that was still swarming with local cops. “Let's go.” 

Tony grabbed his bag and slammed the trunk closed before following.

The outer layer of people let the two NCIS agents past with only a simple glance, but the man standing at the door to the house blocked their paths.

“Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS,” Gibbs said, flashing his badge and ID.

“Detective Coltrain,” the man replied, sounding frustrated. “I guess you'll be wanting jurisdiction.”

Gibbs just nodded sharply. Tony caught a dark look in his alpha's eye that piqued his curiosity.

“What do you know?” Tony asked politely, sensing Gibbs wasn't inclined to play politics and the wrong word was going to set off Coltrain's strained temper.

“Two victims,” Coltrain answered. “Someone called 911 reporting a GW. When the ambulance arrived, one man was still alive.”

“I was told he was taken to Potomac,” Gibbs commented.

“I believe so,” Coltrain said. “The second was pronounced dead on the scene. Unfortunately, to get to the living man, the paramedics had to go over the corpse. He fell right in the doorway.”

Tony winced. A crime scene that medical personnel had wandered through was always compromised. One where they'd had to travel over the remaining body, probably disrupting the body position in addition to knocking around any other evidence was a nightmare. Ducky was going to throw a fit.

“Get your people out of the house,” Gibbs ordered. “We have to preserve as much as we can at this point.”

“I'll need finger prints and shoe prints of everyone who's been inside,” Tony added politely, though he could tell it would do little good. This was not going to be a polite collaboration.

“We IDed the dead vic immediately. His tags were visible outside his shirt. My people stayed out of the house,” Coltrain insisted. 

“And shoe prints for those who've been circling to eliminate them too,” Tony countered. He caught a hint of a smirk on Gibbs' lips, which left him feeling better than he wanted to acknowledge, but he kept his face impassive. During a jurisdiction dispute was no time to show weakness.

“Fine,” Coltrain snapped. “DB is Lance Corporal Richard Peck, USMC. Survivor was identified by the caller as Gregory Peck, who owns the house with his wife.”

“Has Mary been contacted yet?” Gibbs asked.

“Who?” Coltrain asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

“The live victim's wife,” Gibbs answered gruffly.

“Hospital probably contacted next of kin,” Coltrain said dismissively.

Tony watched how Gibbs glared at the cop and wondered just how well his boss knew the Pecks.

“Thank you, Detective Coltrain,” Tony interrupted before Gibbs could get really angry. “If you could ask your people to meet me over at the driveway ...” He gestured towards an empty, flat area and started moving that way, hoping he had enough equipment in his backpack to tide him over until Ziva arrived with the truck. He was more relieved when Gibbs followed him instead of staying to argue with Coltrain.

“Who is Gregory Peck to you?” Tony asked once they were out of earshot.

“Saved my life in Kuwait,” Gibbs replied softly. “Richard used to come over and play with Kelly.”

“Shit,” Tony hissed, turning to stare at his alpha. “Are you going to be okay with this case?”

“You think I'd let anyone else take it?” Gibbs snapped back, his eyes boring into Tony's. There was fire burning within, and it almost hid the grief.

Tony kept hold of his alpha's eyes for a minute before dropping his gaze and tilting his head slightly, not as much as he would if they were alone but enough to show his submission. “Let me know if you need a break,” he said softly, turning to greet the first of the men Coltrain sent over.

~o0o~

Amanda returned to the family room before Mary arrived, looking wan and pale in her borrowed green scrubs. She looked cleaner, but more fragile without the blood splatter. Tim took her arm when she came in the door and guided her to a couch.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“I wish I could do more,” Tim said honestly. “Unfortunately, what I need to do now is take your statement ... if you feel up to it.”

“Of course,” Amanda said flatly. There was an eerie edge to her voice, but Tim recognized she was falling into that military vocal pattern so often used for reports.

“What were you doing at Mr. Peck's home?” Tim prompted.

“Richard, my fiancé ...”she began, then paused and shook her head gently, squeezing her eyes tight for a moment. “Lance Corporal Richard Peck spoke to his father this morning. They always have breakfast together on Thursdays when Richard is in town. He offered to take Greg out for dinner, since Mary would be out. We arrived about eighteen thirty. Richard went in while I stayed in the car. It makes Greg more comfortable about getting into the car if we aren't both hovering over him.”

“Forgive me, but why is that?” Tim asked hesitantly, not really wanting to interrupt. 

“You really don't know much about Greg,” Amanda said, almost sounding amused for a moment.

“I'm sorry. I'm sure the information is waiting for me in the office, but I was called in from home,” Tim said.

“Greg was a Sergeant in the Corps until a bomb in Iraq five years ago,” Amanda explained. “He was thrown into a pile of rubble ... his spine was damaged. He's in a wheel chair now. Most of the time he manages fine, but sometimes he gets a bit ... tetchy.”

“Understandable,” Tim assured her. “So, you waited in the car.”

“Something wasn't right. I knew that quickly,” Amanda said, tears filling her eyes again. “I couldn't really see, not from my angle, but the door never closed behind Richard, and I thought I heard something. I gave him a minute, a chance for things to be normal, then I got out of the car ... Richard was lying just inside the door ... two bullets to the chest ... dead. I checked his pulse and he was ...” She began to cry, sobs cutting off her voice.

Tim did what he could. He touched her shoulder, offered her the box of tissues he'd found when he was alone earlier, tried to be supportive. He felt like a world class ass, asking this poor woman questions when she'd just found her fiancé dead in his father's doorway. But being an NCIS agent was never easy. He'd come to understand that long ago.

Amanda's sobs began to ease, and she forced out words between heaving breaths. “I saw Greg in his chair, just down the hall. He was breathing, I could hear ... so I called 911 and did what I could.”

“Did you see anyone else in the house?” Tim asked softly.

Amanda shook her head. “I didn't look. The killer must have gone out the back while I ... I hesitated ... not much of a Marine, am I?”

“Nonsense,” Tim insisted. “If you'd gone in any earlier, you'd probably be dead too. We've had other cases that look similar ...” Tim cut himself off. You weren't supposed to talk about the case with others, not without Gibbs’ permission anyway. But if it would help her grief. “There have never been survivors before, and in some cases it did look like some of the victims had just come in the door. I'm certain that pause saved your life.” He'd sort it out with Gibbs later if he had to.

She smiled sadly at him. “Thank you,” she said, patting his hand kindly. “It doesn't help much now, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

Tim was rescued from further bad attempts at sympathy by the arrival of an older woman. Amanda threw herself into the newcomer's arms as they both broke down crying.

“I'm sorry,” Amanda sobbed again and again.

“You did what you could,” the new woman assured Amanda.

Tim gave them a few minutes to wind down before clearing his throat sharply and introducing himself.

“Mary Peck,” the newcomer said, guiding Amanda back to the couch and settling down with her. “Greg's wife.”

“I'm sorry for your loss,” Tim said formally, not sure what else he could say.

“I'm sure you are,” Mary said dryly, but tears were glinting in her eyes. “Have you heard about my husband yet?”

“I'm afraid not,” Tim said. “Forgive me for digging right now, but where were you this evening?”

“Don't worry, son, I understand,” Mary assured him. “You have a job to do, and since I want the bastard who killed my Ricky caught, I'll help. I was at my bridge club. We meet every Thursday. Names and numbers are in my Rolodex at home. You can have your team mates collect it and confirm everything.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Peck,” Tim said.

“Oh, call me Mary, son,” Mary insisted. “I still think of Greg's mother when I hear Mrs. Peck.”

Tim cracked a grin at that, and the older woman matched it with glee even as a tear rolled down her face.

“Who's your boss?” Mary asked, surprising Tim. “I'm not sure who'd be assigned a case like this.”

“Do you know a lot of NCIS agents?” Tim countered.

“A few,” Mary said, a touch smugly. “So, whose team are you on?”

“Special Agent Gibbs,” Tim admitted.

“Jethro Gibbs's team?” Mary asked, sounding pleased.

“Yes, ma'am,” Tim replied formally.

“Good,” Mary said, her eyes fixed on the door and her tone rather vicious. Uncertain what to make of that, Tim let the silence of waiting fill the room. Maybe the doctor would come soon. It had been several hours.

~o0o~

When Ziva arrived at the crime scene, Gibbs and Tony were having some kind of staring contest. She'd never quiet understood how they could say so much to each other with a few looks, but it always seemed to settle things between them. None of her research into their backgrounds had provided a satisfactory explanation to date.

Ducky was just behind Ziva in arriving and so she followed him to the house.

“Who's been trampling all over my crime scene?” Ducky cried angrily.

Ziva didn't have an answer, but she was also upset at the degree of disruption clearly visible in the entryway of the house. The body looked to have been shoved over, the limbs in an unnatural tangle.

“Paramedics,” Gibbs said, coming up behind Ducky and Ziva. “Live victim was in the hall.”

“That's ... a poor excuse,” Ducky muttered kneeling next to the young man's body. “I'm so sorry, young man. I assure you, I'll treat you with much more respect.”

“Ziva, take DiNozzo more supplies for collecting prints, then photo and sketch the interior,” Gibbs ordered, crouching down next to Ducky. “We know both victims were in the hall, but look for other signs of disturbance.”

Ziva looked down at the body as Ducky rolled it over, revealing the two clear shots to the heart. “You think this is another of those home invasions?” she asked.

“I think you're supposed to be finding out,” Gibbs snapped, sending her quickly on her way.

~o0o~

“Was that really necessary, Jethro?” Ducky asked once Ziva was out of earshot.

Gibbs just grunted. He was running on a high level of frustration because of the identities of the victims in this case. If it turned out to be connected to their string of home invasions as well, he couldn't make any promises for his mood.

“What's upset you so?” Ducky asked perceptively. “It isn't like you to be quite so angry right off the bat. Unless one of those detectives dropped your coffee already.”

“Didn't have time to get one,” Gibbs snapped, glaring at his empty hand. No, he had to run to Tony's apartment, the first time he'd been inside since he left for Mexico save that one talk once he started to remember, and still make it to the crime scene first. It had been far too long since his last cup if they were going to be pulling an all-nighter at this scene. “I know the victims,” he added before Ducky could dig further.

“Oh?” Ducky prompted, deftly inserting the liver probe.

“Richard used to play with Kelly,” Gibbs answered simply, gesturing at the dead body.

Ducky frowned at the young man before him and then looked at Gibbs with sad eyes. “Ah, Jethro. I'm sorry. This must be very difficult to face.”

“Be harder if Greg doesn't make it,” Gibbs replied gruffly.

“Greg?” Ducky prompted gently.

“His father,” Gibbs replied. “Saved me after the explosion fifteen years ago. If this proves to be the same as those home invasions around Quantico, I ...”

“You'll solve it,” Ducky said confidently. “This just makes that result more of a certainty.”

“I'm not omniscient,” Gibbs snapped, but he was more angry at himself than anything else. These cases had been coming in for over six months, and they'd only just finally connected them together for the first time. How many more had to die before they solved this one?

“No, just a stubborn SOB,” Ducky said playfully. “And young Anthony has been just as determined to solve these since the first one came across his desk. Between the two of you, I have faith.”

Gibbs resisted saying 'thank you,' but had a feeling his old friend could read that in his eyes. “TOD, Duck?” he said instead.

“Not long. Within the last two hours,” Ducky replied. “He's barely begun to cool. With the disruption, there's not much else I can tell you until I get him on my table.”

“Take him home then, Duck,” Gibbs ordered. “You'll do the autopsy tonight?”

“Of course. I'll have the report by morning,” Ducky assured him.

Gibbs rose stiffly from his knees and with a nod to Ducky went to check on his agents.

~o0o~

As soon as he'd printed the first officer, Tony had begged the man to run to the nearest coffee shop and buy the biggest cup of black coffee he could get his hands on. It had taken a twenty dollar bribe and brought Detective Coltrain back down on him for abusing the local officers, but the look on Gibbs' face when Tony handed him the steaming cup made it all worth it.

It was a good thing he got that look because Gibbs certainly didn't say thank you. “Process the exterior of the house,” was Gibbs' order once he'd taken the first gulp, after which he stalked off to check on Ziva and see Ducky off with the body.

There wasn't much for Tony to process. It looked like the killer had hopped the back fence from the alley beside the yard, picked the kitchen door, and gone back out the same way. He took pictures of the rubber smudges on the back fence and of the back door before taking samples of the former and printing the latter. There were no footprints in the well-grown grass of the yard, and he had a bad feeling the prints on the back door would all come back to the family or friends of the family. That's all they ever got with these cases.

Exterior dealt with, Tony went inside and assisted Ziva with the arduous and ultimately useless process of printing the interior of the house. This guy always wore gloves, always stole a few small items, and always killed with two shots to the heart. After nine months and twenty-one dead, Tony was beginning to wonder if they'd ever stop him.

~o0o~

Tim's prayers weren't answered for another hour. When the surgeon finally stepped wearily through the door, the tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife.

“Gregory Peck's family?” the surgeon asked.

“I'm his wife,” Mary replied, standing. “This is his daughter.”

Amanda looked ready to protest, but Mary hissed something at her, putting a comforting hand on the younger woman's shoulder until she settled down.

“And you?” the surgeon asked Tim.

“Special Agent McGee, NCIS,” Tim explained.

“Ah, I've got some bullets for you,” the surgeon replied, turning back and calling down the hall for the evidence bags.

“Now, I'm Dr. Horace. I worked on Mr. Peck,” the surgeon continued. “The news is good. Mr. Peck is a very lucky man. If he hadn't had _situs inversus_ he would have died instantly. With Mr. Peck's heart on the right side of his chest, not the left, the bullets missed his heart. He has a punctured left lung and the second bullet grazed the pericardium, but I believe we were able to repair the damage in good time.”

“So he's going to be fine?” Mary demanded.

“Recovery will be slow, but he's in good shape,” Dr. Horace said. “We'll keep a careful eye out for complications related to his previous injuries, but I think, with time, he should make a full recovery.”

“Thank God,” Mary whispered, her fingers clenching a pendant that had been hidden under her blouse, probably a crucifix.

Amanda was not as relieved. Tears began to roll down her face again. “And to think I used to be glad that Richard didn't have _situs inversus_ ,” she choked out. “Used to tease him that the doctors had an easier time with him than his father.”

“Don't think that,” Mary insisted, grasping the younger woman's shoulders and shaking her lightly. “If they'd both had it, you'd have had to make a choice. I'd never wish that on your shoulders. This way God chose. Let it rest on his shoulders.”

Amanda let out a great wracking sob. “But Ricky's dead,” she cried.

Mary pulled Amanda into her arms, holding the younger woman tight as she cried, whispering into her ear.

Tim stepped around them, trying to provide a measure of privacy as he approached Dr. Horace. “If I could just get those bullets, I should go,” he said softly once he was in reach of the surgeon.

“Of course,” Dr. Horace agreed. “My nurse has them just outside.”

“When do you expect we can speak with Mr. Peck?” Tim added.

“Tomorrow afternoon at the earliest,” Dr. Horace said apologetically. “He's just had some pretty major surgery, and it will take time for him to come out of the anesthesia.”

“We need to talk to him as soon as possible,” Tim insisted. “He's the first person to survive what we fear is a string of killings. Any information he can provide ...”

“Of course,” Dr. Horace assured him. “Leave your card with my nurse and I'll make sure you're contacted as soon as he regains consciousness.”

~o0o~

It was going to be a very long and very frustrating night. It was long past midnight, and Tony and Ziva had just finished printing everywhere downstairs they could think of. They started on the bedroom upstairs, since their thief often went for jewelry and picture frames, when Tony's phone rang.

“DiNozzo,” he snapped into the phone.

“It's McGee. Are you still at the crime scene?” Tim asked.

“Probie? Where are you?” Tony demanded, ignoring the look of bemusement that Ziva was shooting him.

“I just handed over the evidence from the hospital to Abby. Chances are good that Mr. Peck will survive.”

Tony let out a soft sigh of relief. “Gibbs'll be glad to hear that.”

“Why?” Tim asked perceptively. “The wife was oddly glad to hear that Gibbs was leading the case.”

“Old friends,” Tony replied simply.

“Friends or ... ah ... _friends_?” Tim asked, putting an odd emphasis on the second time he said friends that could be interpreted any number of ways. Tony was pretty sure Tim didn't mean anything with sex.

“They _knew_ his first family,” he replied, letting Tim take that as far or as simply as he wished.

“Shit,” Tim hissed. “Should I come down?”

“Shouldn't you be asking Gibbs that?” Tony asked, now admitting to his curiosity as to why the probie had called him instead of the boss.

“I ... ah ... he was kind of grumpy when he called me in,” Tim stuttered. “I thought you might be safer.”

Tony laughed. “Probably. He's been like a bear with a sore butt all night.”

Gibbs, who had walked over to catch up on his team's progress, slapped Tony on the back of the head for that one, the audible smack translating down the phone line.

“Then you should have known better than to say that,” Tim taunted.

“Doc says Mr. Peck is looking good. You want Probie here, boss?” Tony asked, ignoring Tim and rubbing the back of his head gingerly.

“Get him started on a background search,” Gibbs grumbled, but with a bit less venom than he'd been using all night. “I want to know how this guy is picking his targets,” he called as he stalked off to another room.

“You hear that, Probie?” Tony asked into the phone.

“On it,” Tim replied. “Grab the rolodex while you're there. We need it to confirm the wife's alibi.”

“Probably irrelevant from how things look here,” Tony commented.

“Rule eight: Never assume, always double check,” Tim countered. “This is the first case we've seen in a home not owned by a currently military family.”

“Maybe because Lance Corporal Peck was living in bachelor's quarters?” Tony suggested.

“I'll check if he and his fiancée had requested married quarters,” Tim said, the faint rattle of computer keys audible in the background.

“He was engaged?” Tony asked, unable to hide how his stomach sank at hearing that.

“She was in the car,” Tim replied gently. “She heard the shots as the victim entered the house, came in a minute later and saved Mr. Peck's life, helping and calling 911.”

“Wait, that doesn't sound like he was expecting Lance Corporal Peck to be there,” Tony said thoughtfully, separating his logic from his emotions like a good agent.

“What are you two talking about?” Ziva asked. Tony quickly summarized what Tim had been saying and put his phone on speaker.

“If our dead man was not the intended victim, this is the first time a non-military figure has been targeted,” Ziva commented.

“Gregory Peck is a retired Marine,” Tim pointed out. “That's not really non-military.”

“Retired means that if his son hadn't been killed, we'd never have been called out,” Tony pointed out. “What if there have been other former military families targeted, and we never added it to the pattern because we weren't told.”

“Abby's been checking our bullets against cases in jurisdictions all over the country,” Tim said.

“But he's only recently started to reuse guns,” Tony said.

Ziva interrupted, “If it's all the same person.”

“Noted,” Tony said gruffly but otherwise ignored her. He had heard that argument from her time and again, but something about this case told him it was all the work of one man. “But if it is, then we might be missing half the pattern. Ask Abby to check for similar looking cases in Virginia, Maryland, and North Carolina. There's a lot of ex-military families in the area who settled in before getting out and then stayed.”

“Can do, Tony,” Tim said, sounding a little excited. Tony didn't blame him. This was the first time they'd felt like they'd had the slightest lead on this case.

“And check in with Ducky on his progress,” Tony added. “I think we're going to be here most of the rest of the night, so call with updates as they come.”

“Especially if it might put Gibbs in a better mood,” Tim said teasingly.

“Got it in one,” Tony agreed, then hung up.

“You are taking charge again,” Ziva warned. Tony just shot her a glare and went back to printing the dresser. “Gibbs is back. You should not be receiving the calls and updates.”

Tony sighed and kept his eyes on his work. “I'm behaving like a competent senior field agent, fielding minor matters and referring the big decisions to my boss.” She had no right to complain as long as Gibbs didn't. And it wasn't like Tony had asked Tim to call him; the probie had made that decision all on his own. Buffering for a grumpy alpha was part of the beta's job. Tim got that.

“Perhaps Gibbs will think you are getting too big for your trousers,” Ziva needled.

Ziva did not. 

“It's britches,” Tony corrected. “And until Gibbs himself complains, I'll keep on doing what I do. Are you done printing that side of the room?”

“Almost,” Ziva said, sounding almost apologetic for not doing her work.

Tony pulled the last print from the surface of the dresser and secured it in his kit. “Good. I'm going to update Gibbs and then print another room.” He walked out without waiting for a reply. Sometimes he wondered if Ziva would understand pack dynamics even if they explained it to her.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Murder at Home  
Series: Home  
Author: triskellion  
Rating: R  
Word Count: 9071/37,000+  
Spoilers: None  
Warnings: It's slash, but you won't see that here  
Disclaimer: They're not mine, pretty as I find them. Go to the producers if you want to talk money.  
Summary: AU but following canon events: A series of thefts around Virginia and Maryland may prove to be something far more deadly and dangerous. 

 

Arriving back at NCIS headquarters was a relief, even if it was just approaching dawn after a night with no sleep. The office meant no more squinting at smudgy black prints on a wide variety of surfaces, no more digging through someone's belongings looking for anything that was possibly missing, and a steady supply of coffee for an increasingly caffeine deprived Gibbs.

Usually Gibbs wasn't this bad at long, involved crime scenes, but the identities of the victims clearly had him on edge. This meant everyone around him was climbing the walls to escape him. The experience was exhausting. Tony hadn't seen his alpha look this obsessed since Ari, and the comparison did nothing to settle his nerves.

The large black coffee in Gibbs’ hand gave away his stop for coffee, possibly explaining why he arrived at the parking lot at the same time as Tony. That actually surprised the younger agent; he'd rather expected Gibbs to beat him back even with a coffee stop, but given the mellower expression on Gibbs’ face he'd probably stayed to drink the first cup in the store. And he'd clearly made an extra stop given the cup of CafPow in his other hand.

“Feeling better, boss?” Tony asked teasingly as they stepped into the elevator together.

“Is Richie going to be okay?” Gibbs snapped back. Apparently he wasn't as mellow as Tony thought.

“Hospital said Gregory Peck is still stable and doing well,” Tony said by way of apology. He had thought to call in and check on the way in.

“But not awake?”

“McGee left a card. They'll call as soon as he comes to,” Tony assured him.

“Tell me when they do,” Gibbs ordered. “I want to interview him.”

“You could go now,” Tony suggested. “Mrs. Peck might want to see you.” Since they were old friends the dynamic of visits would be a bit different, more like checking up on an injured teammate, Tony figured.

“Not until Greg's awake or I have something to tell her about her son,” Gibbs snapped, striding out of the elevator as the doors opened. “Preferably both.”

Tony followed fast on his heels into Abby's lab. He was determined to try and keep on Gibbs’ better side – he sure didn't have a good side today – as much as possible on this case. “How's it going, Abby?” Tony asked over the blaring music.

Gibbs just stalked over to the boom box before Abby could move and slapped off the noise. “Talk to me, Abs,” he ordered.

“Gibbs. Tony,” Abby cried happily. “Tim just went back upstairs to wait for you.”

“I'm down here now, so why don't you tell me what you found,” Gibbs snapped, slapping the CafPow into her hands.

Abby seemed happy to ignore his grumpy mood and took a big suck before speaking. “McGee and I checked the records of the police departments for the cities around Quantico. Dumfries has three similar cases, Triangle two, and Aquia and Garrisonville one each.”

Gibbs snarled. “How did no one notice that?” he demanded.

“All the victims had military connections, but they were former military, so there was no reason for them to call NCIS,” Abby explained apologetically.

“That's not what I asked. Are all the victims from Marine families?”

“Umm ...” Abby scanned a list of files on her computer. “Four had Navy connections instead, though one of those had a Navy officer and a Marine officer who got married.”

“In this area, there has got to be something more to it than a military connection,” Tony interjected. He was also wondering why there hadn't been any kind of report about the similar cases. Usually NCIS was at least good at picking up on the reports the different police forces sent between themselves even when the forces weren't talking to NCIS directly. 

“Get the files from Abby,” Gibbs ordered. “I want us to re-interview every single member of those households, or whatever relatives survived the victims. Find that connection.”

With that, he stalked out, just missing Ziva as she came in with a large box of evidence. Tony could never have gotten it all checked in that fast. He would have to find out Ziva's secret for dealing with the baggie bunnies. Or maybe the trick was not to call them baggie bunnies. Ziva had suggested they didn't like that back when Chip had framed him for murder. At this point it might just be safer to let someone else check in the evidence for the rest of his career.

“Is it just me, or is Gibbs grumpier than usual?” Abby asked, interrupting Tony's thoughts.

“That's one way to put it,” Tony said dryly.

“What is upsetting him so?” Ziva asked, dropping the evidence box onto Abby's table. “You told McGee something about the victims knowing Kelly?”

“Gregory Peck was the Sergeant who saved Gibbs' life in Kuwait,” Tony said. “He and his family knew Gibbs' first family apparently.”

“How did you find that out so fast?” Abby asked, giving him a suspicious look.

“I asked the first time he snarled at me,” Tony said pointedly, putting a hand on Abby's shoulder with his fingers digging lightly into her neck under her collar as he guided her to the table.

Abby's eyes lit up with comprehension even as Ziva gave Tony a funny look. “I do not understand. Gibbs is not forthcoming about his past.”

“Sometimes, if you get the timing just right ...” Tony trailed off and let Ziva draw her own conclusions. Tony was not going to explain why Gibbs was a bit more open with Tony than he used to be.

“How close were they?” Abby asked as she started pulling items from the box and signing for them.

“Very, I think,” Tony said flatly, tightening his grip for a moment before releasing the Goth.

“Ah,” Abby breathed. “Well, if this is like the other cases, then there won't be much in here that doesn't come from the homeowners, if anything. But I'll run everything just in case.”

“Please do,” Tony said. “And email me those case files, please. Ziva, we have interviews to schedule.”

“What case files?” Ziva asked.

“For the similar looking cases that we just found out about,” Tony replied.

“The local LEOs aren't going to hand over everything,” Abby warned him. “I've only got some general information I could get from their servers.”

“You want to tell Gibbs that right now?” Tony asked her, receiving a sharp shake of the head in reply. “Didn't think so. Send me what you've got. I'll see if the Director can sweet-talk them for the rest in the next few days. Oh, and look into whether the different cities have been talking to each other on this one.”

“On it, boss,” Abby said teasingly as Tony guided a bemused Ziva out the door.

“I still do not quite understand,” Ziva told him in the elevator.

“All you need to understand right now is the boss is taking this case very personally and if we don't find him a connection soon it's going to be our heads,” Tony replied sharply, a tone he didn't often use when he wasn't in charge.

“If you say so, Tony,” Ziva said, but it was clear from her expression and tone that she was not satisfied. “Does McGee understand?”

The elevator doors opened just then and Tony strode out into the bullpen. “I don't know, Ziva. Why don't you ask him? Probie! Do you understand what's upsetting Gibbs about this case?” He ignored the irritated look Gibbs shot him from behind his desk. He also ignored the odd look Tim shot him before answering.

“I think so, Tony,” Tim answered firmly. “However, I'm more interested in those cases Abby and I found.”

“Me too, McGee,” Tony replied, sitting down behind his desk. “Is Ducky's autopsy report up yet?”

“Just his initial notes, but I wrote up my interview from the hospital,” Tim said.

“You are both impossible,” Ziva snapped as she sat behind her own desk. “Fine, which reports should I start with?”

~o0o~

Abby was up to visit around lunch time. Fortunately, when he'd gone out to get burgers, Tim had also had the sense to get spares just in case of such visitors. So, when he found her settling on the edge of Tony's desk, he handed her a large burger and fries before passing the same to Tony and Ziva.

“I thought you were getting pizza,” Tony protested before shoving three fries in his mouth.

“Ducky's due up any minute with the autopsy report,” Tim countered, waving a leaf of lettuce from his burger at the senior agent.

“Burgers are almost as bad in his mind,” Gibbs cut in, snatching his share from the bag in Tim's hands. “He'd rather we eat those tofu wrap things Kate liked.”

Tim, Tony, and Gibbs all shuddered while Ziva looked on in confusion, but Abby protested. “Hey, those were good.”

“Whatever you say, Abby,” was Tony's disbelieving reply.

“While we're waiting for Ducky, what have you found?” Gibbs asked the team at large.

“They were all military and all lived near to Quantico,” Tim said, disgusted by the lack of results in his searches last night. “The only other correlation I've found is that retired Staff Sergeant James Bizarro and his wife, Eglantine, killed last May in Triangle, were the parents of Major Margery FitzWilliam, who was killed with her family ...”

Tim shrank back and trailed off at Gibbs fierce glare. “Last December. That was our case. How did we miss this?” he snarled.

“I ... I ... I'm looking through ... my old notes,” Tim stuttered, trying to remember where his backbone had gone. “I'll figure it out.” He didn't dare say he didn't have a clue how they had missed it and was about ready to hack the Triangle police servers to try and figure out why the Bizarro's death hadn't shown up in any of the records he checked.

It was a relief when Gibbs seemed to accept the promise and turned his glare on Tony.

“I'm setting up interviews with every remaining relative I can find,” Tony said confidently. “It would help to get those reports from the local LEOs to be sure we've got a full list on the families of the ex-military victims.”

Gibbs grunted and glanced up at the balcony above the bullpen before looking over at Ziva.

“I have found no correlation,” she said firmly. “I have set up several interviews, but I still think we are assuming too much when we insist these cases are all related.”

“Oh, but I found another bullet match,” Abby cut in, to Tim's relief, cutting that incipient argument off in its tracks. “The bullets the surgeon pulled from Gregory Peck match the ones Ducky pulled from Richard Peck, but also from a case in Triangle last May. James and Eglantine Bizarro were killed with the same gun used last night.”

“Any other matches in the cases we just found out about?” Gibbs asked, almost smiling for the first time that morning.

“Two of the cases in Dumfries, retired Commander Volkov and retired Commander Petrovich and their families were killed with the same gun in October and April of last year,” Abby replied. “Based on what I've found, the local LEOs decided it was some kind of Russian Mafia thing and didn't even connect it to the death of the Jamisons last month

“Idiots,” Tony grumbled. “They're decorated Navy veterans with no criminal records, all third and fourth generation American.”

“Definitely sloppy,” Abby agreed. “But there might be some evidence we're missing. Until we get the full reports and evidence from Dumfries ...” She trailed off. They all knew how limited they were at the moment.

Gibbs threw his half eaten lunch in the trash and grabbed a file from his desk before stomping towards the stairs. “Back in a minute, Ducky,” he called when he spotted Ducky coming out of the elevator.

“Finished the autopsy?” Tony asked when Ducky got to the team's space, offering the ME a fry.

“I finished hours ago. I've just been finishing the report,” Ducky replied, trading a stack of paper for the carton of fries in Tony's hand. “Where is Gibbs off to?”

“Probably to ask Director Shepard to get us custody of the similar cases we dug up last night,” Tony replied, scowling at the loss of his fries. However, he was quickly distracted by Ducky's report. 

“There's nothing new in there,” Ducky said sadly. “Richard Peck was killed with two bullets to the heart. Our killer is an excellent marksman. This was exactly the same as the others. I wonder how Gregory Peck survived.”

“The doctor said something about ... _situs inversus_ ,” Tim dragged from memory banks that were foggy with the stress of the night countered by too little caffeine. 

“Oh, what an interesting condition,” Ducky exclaimed. “I wonder if he has a partial or full case.”

“What is this inversus?” Ziva asked.

“It's a congenital condition where the internal organs are in their mirror positions,” Ducky explained. “The heart is on the right, as are the stomach and gall bladder. The liver is on the left. The right lung has two lobes, the left three. It's quite an interesting phenomenon. In this case, it would have saved Mr. Peck's life. The killer has been so precise in the placement of his bullets that it's possible they missed the heart and lungs entirely.”

“Punctured the left lung and clipped the pericardium,” Tim added. “According to his surgeon.”

“I believe I have heard of it,” Ziva admitted thoughtfully. “He was a very lucky man.”

“I should contact the doctor for the medical files. Further proof of our killer's accuracy with a gun,” Ducky commented.

“Dr. Horace at Potomac Hospital,” Tim offered. He couldn't help but note how Ducky had said killer and not thief. They had long been thinking of these as home invasion cases first and murders second. Maybe that was the wrong way around.

“Thank you, Timothy,” Ducky said. “I should go call him. If Gibbs has any questions I should be in autopsy the rest of the day.”

~o0o~

Gibbs didn't bother to wait for Cynthia to contact Jen or to be invited in. He just stalked through the anti-room and straight into the Director's office.

Jen kept her eyes on her folder but scowled. “Yes, Jethro?” she snapped.

“Our nine home invasion cases just became sixteen,” Gibbs answered gruffly.

“Where did these other cases come from?” Jen asked, finally turning her attention fully to her agent.

“Local LEOs never reported that they had cases with the same MO, all against former military families.” Gibbs couldn't hide the fury within him. Either someone had been hiding these cases or four different city police departments had seriously screwed up.

“You're sure these cases relate?” Jen asked.

“Well, getting the files would help clinch it, but everything we have indicates these killings are all by the same man or group of men.”

“You want the files?” Jen asked. “Have you asked for them?”

“Either someone is covering things up, or they're idiots.” Gibbs they could try to ignore, dumb as that would be. The Director of NCIS, however, would be very hard to ignore, or say no to. Gibbs wanted, no, needed those files, and ASAP.

Jen gave him a suspicious look, like she was trying to read him despite his impassive expression. “What's so important about this case?” she asked.

“Someone has killed over forty people in the last year no one connected the cases,” Gibbs snapped. He did not want Jen digging into this. Maybe contacting the police himself would have been a better idea. 

“True,” Jen said, leaning back in her chair. “But that's not all. Why did it take us this long to make the connection?”

Gibbs shrugged. He saw it as a failing that they had not caught on to these other cases sooner.

“I want to know why no one made the connection,” Jen ordered.

“We're looking into it,” Gibbs assured her. 

“I suppose you'd like me to ask the local forces when I call for the files,” Jen said with a roll of her eyes. Gibbs just smirked slightly. “Very well. I'll see what I can get out of them.”

The words 'thank you' caught in his throat, and Gibbs just nodded shortly and stalked back out. Jen would probably make him suffer for his shortness later, but right now he couldn't muster the strength to stuff down his anger long enough to sweet talk her. He shouldn't have to sweet talk the Director to get the support a team leader should have. It was days like this he really missed Tom Morrow.

~o0o~

There were two highlights to the afternoon. First, Jen came through and all four local police forces promised to have the case files and evidence shipped overnight to Anacostia. Tony was tempted to volunteer to go get them himself but resisted. He didn't want to leave the rest of the team with Gibbs and no buffer. In his current mood, Gibbs would tear them apart.

The second highlight Tony considered quite a miracle. Gibbs let everyone go home at four. Usually he'd be saying that they didn't deserve the break, but maybe the older agent was going soft.

That, or he was so sick of them screwing up he wanted them all out of his sight.

While Ziva and Tim scampered off as soon as Gibbs gave permission, Tony stuck around. He had a call to make at five; the baby sitter for the Duarte family had promised Mom would be home by then. 

Gibbs gave him a look but didn't comment on his continued presence. Tony kept sifting through reports. He needed to keep looking busy to discourage Gibbs from ordering him home. Even after that call, Tony wasn't sure he'd leave. He didn't want to leave Gibbs here alone, not with this case weighing him down. He was watching carefully for signs of the level of obsession that had his alpha sleeping in the office for six months over Ari.

The call went well. Mrs. Duarte could spare him some time in two days, which Tony dutifully jotted down in his calendar. But it was the call Gibbs received while Tony was on the phone that really had the senior agent's attention.

They both hung up at the same time, and Tony didn't hide his interest at all. When Gibbs stood and began gathering his stuff, Tony did the same despite the glare that his alpha shot him.

“Hospital?” Tony asked hopefully as he followed fast on Gibbs' heels towards the elevator.

“Go home,” Gibbs ordered.

Tony fought with the urge to just knuckle under and obey. “You sure you don't want back up?” he asked subserviently, unable to resist tilting his head to the side so his neck was slightly exposed.

Letting out a great sigh of air, Gibbs finally looked at his second, not glared but actually looked. Tony thought Gibbs looked scared for a moment, probably the most honest expression the agent had seen on his alpha's face in almost twenty-four hours.

“Please let me help?” Tony requested, his tone light and playful. He let his eyes do the pleading. Gibbs needed backup on this, even if he didn't think so, and Tony wanted to be there to watch his alpha's six.

“Fine,” Gibbs grumped, striding out of the elevator and heading straight for his car. “If Mary feels up to it, take her to the house and find out what's missing.”

“Right, boss,” Tony replied glibly, quickly following Gibbs and sliding into the passenger seat as soon as his alpha unlocked the door. No way he was risking Gibbs leaving him behind because he wasn't fast enough. While it might seem like Gibbs was putting up with him just to get rid of him, Tony knew they did actually need that information.

And it was the only way Gibbs could concede he needed help and still keep his pride intact. Tony knew his alpha well enough to recognize that.

~o0o~

They could have picked a better time to drive to Potomac Hospital. The rush hour traffic did not put Gibbs in a good mood, or rather it eroded what little improvement in mood he'd had since learning that Gregory Peck was awake. Tony rather wished he'd suggested stopping for coffee. By the time they pulled into the parking lot, it felt a lot like being in a car with a primed bomb. Gibbs was quite ready to go off.

The tension continued to build as they went into the hospital. Even the nurses they asked for directions from seemed to treat the team leader warily. But as soon as Gibbs spotted an older woman as they stepped out of the elevator on the fourth floor, he seemed to deflate, his anger vanishing with his foul mood, and faster than Tony'd ever seen even a cup of coffee help.

“Mary,” Gibbs said in greeting, opening his arms to the woman who had headed straight for him as soon as she saw him.

“Jethro, it has been too long,” she replied, her hug so tight it almost lifted him off his feet despite the sharp height difference between them.

“Sorry about that,” Gibbs said, sounding positively sheepish to Tony's amazement. “Things have been a bit chaotic since the explosion.”

“I should imagine,” Mary agreed, stepping back and punching him playfully on the shoulder. “But not remembering the last fifteen years is no excuse for not talking to those that knew you before. I'll be expecting you for dinner as soon as Greg is out of the hospital.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Gibbs assured her. “How's he doing?”

“Tired and in pain,” Mary said wryly. “But awake and refusing pain meds because he insists he's already done enough sleeping.”

“Stubborn fool,” Gibb said fondly.

“Reminds me of another Marine I know,” Mary countered. “Now, who's this young man?”

Gibbs clapped a hand on Tony's shoulder and pulled him forward from where he'd been hiding behind his alpha. He'd been staying back, out of the way of what seemed a rather private meeting. Being touched almost made him jump, and he couldn't stop the way his eyes widened in surprise for a moment before he plastered a bland, professional look back on his face. The amused look in Mary's eyes made it clear she'd seen right through him, though.

“Special Agent Tony DiNozzo, my senior field agent,” Gibbs said by way of introduction. “This is Mary Peck, wife of Gregory and mother of Richard.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am,” Tony said politely, offering a hand. “Though I'm sorry it had to be under such circumstances.”

“Very true,” Mary said sadly, shaking his hand with a firm grip. “You'll be wanting to talk to Greg as soon as possible, I assume.”

“I'm afraid so,” Gibbs said. “If you have some time, I'd also appreciate if you'd let Tony take you home and see if anything is missing. We didn't see anything obvious last night, and we need to put out a bulletin with the local pawn shops.”

“I don't see why not,” Mary agreed. “I promised Greg I'd get him something from the commissary, if I can sneak it past the nurses. Why don't you two start your interview and I'll be back in a few.” She shot Tony a look that had him feeling as though he were a microbe under the microscope. “I'm sure Greg will want a chance to meet your friend, Jethro.”

With that rather cryptic comment, she brushed past the NCIS agents and took the elevator down.

Gibbs just strode off down the hall to room 408 without a word, and Tony followed quickly on his heels.

“I'll wait here for Mrs. Peck to return,” Tony offered, pausing outside the door. Gibbs just shot him a look that said what he thought of that idea and strode through the open door. As ordered, Tony followed.

“Jethro? That you?” a weak voice called from the bed. Gregory Peck looked a mess, pale, wan, and covered in bandages, cables, and lines of various types. But, he was on a nasal canula instead of a ventilator, and his blue eyes were bright and focused despite his obvious weakness.

“Hey, Greg,” Gibbs said gently, walking over to Greg's left side. “I'm so sorry about Richard.”

A weak hand reached up and clasped Gibbs'. “Quit it with the sympathy, Gunny. I'll get plenty of that when I get home, and I know you get it. Tell me what I can do to help you catch that bastard.”

Gibbs pulled up a chair and sat down, never letting go of Greg's hand. His left hand reached up to rest on Greg's shoulder, his thumb curving along the edge of the bandage that grazed the injured man's neck. The touch seemed to make Greg melt slightly into his bed. “Tell us what happened,” Gibbs ordered lightly.

“Us?” Greg asked, stiffening and looking over to catch sight of Tony lurking by the door. “Who'd you bring?”

“Special Agent Tony DiNozzo,” Gibbs replied. “My second.”

Tony felt a slight flush of pleasure hearing that. It always amazed him, perhaps in part because he heard it so rarely. There weren't exactly a lot of people Gibbs could tell, after all. “It's a pleasure to meet you,” Tony said honestly, stepping up to stand behind Gibbs' right shoulder. He knew he owed this man for saving his alpha in Kuwait.

Greg grunted, glaring at Tony over Gibb's shoulder.

Gibbs muttered something under his breath that sounded derogatory about shifter pissing matches. “He's my best agent,” he said, glaring at Greg until the injured man dropped his eyes.

“Not your usual style, Gunny,” Greg finally said.

“He's the one who's going to watch my six when I take down the bastard that killed Richard,” Gibbs said, visibly tightening his grip on the other man's shoulder.

Greg let out a grunt that was more disbelief than pain, but turned his attention wholly back to Gibbs.

“What happened?” Gibbs asked again.

Greg took a deep breath before he answered. “I heard Richard's car pull up and was moving towards the door when I heard something in the kitchen. I just had time to turn around when I was face to face with him.”

Tony pulled out his PDA and started taking notes. 

“Any description you can give us is vital,” Gibbs said, keeping his hands on Greg and trusting Tony to keep a record. “We think the same person may have committed over twenty murders over the last ten months, and you're the first survivor.”

Greg's expression, while he still looked exhausted, hardened, an angry Marine coming to the fore. “You want a description, you got it. The bastard didn't even bother to wear a mask. He's six foot two or so, tan skin, probably white, brunet, couldn't quite catch his eye color at the distance. He's built, but not too bulky, moves like he's had training, and definitely knew how to handle that gun.”

“Do you think if we put you with a sketch artist you could work up a likeness?” Gibbs asked eagerly. Tony didn't blame him. This was incredible news.

Greg nodded slowly. “And when you bring him in, I'll be happy to ID him anytime, anywhere,” he said darkly. “Dead or alive.”

“What happened next?” Tony prompted.

Greg studied him for a moment before answering. “He had a gun in his hand, something with a silencer, and he shot me, twice,” Greg said with a wince of pain. “He must have had it out when he came in. Seemed to be expecting to use it. Said, ‘Take that, demon.’ Just snarled it at me.”

Tony tapped is stylus on his PDA thoughtfully. “Any idea what he meant?” he asked.

“Nope,” Greg said, dashing Tony's hopes. “Looked a might familiar, like I'd seen him somewhere before, but I couldn't tell you where.”

“Are you sure it was his face? Not his bearing?” Tony asked, trying to build up a mental image of the man.

“Not sure,” Greg admitted. “He moved like a fighter. It was over pretty fast.” He paused, sucking in a pained breath of air through his mouth.

“What happened next?” Gibbs prompted gently, squeezing Greg's hand.

“I was just sitting there, hurting, and I heard the door open,” Greg said, his sorrow breaking through the military facade that had kept him going this long. “Richard must have walked in ... I never saw him. Just two more shots and a thud as he hit the ground. Bastard just booked out of there after that. I heard the kitchen door slam behind him.”

Mary appeared in the doorway just then. Tony heard her, and turned slightly to catch her pale face taking in her husband's pain. “Brought you some chocolate,” she finally said, coming the rest of the way into the room and claiming the chair on Greg's right.

Greg's eyes lit up a bit, and he blinked away the building tears. “You're a life saver, love,” he assured her.

“Jethro asked me to check out the house,” Mary told him, pressing a bar of chocolate into his hand. “Need to see if he stole anything.”

“Don't think he had time,” Greg said. “Seemed like he was pretty much in and out.”

“Doesn't hurt to check. I'll be back soon. And I'm sure Agent DiNozzo will take good care of me.”

Greg shot Tony a look that made it quite clear his expectations with regards to his wife. Tony tilted his chin up and to the left, just slightly, but also glared back making it clear that while he was obeying, he was not in Greg's line of command.

“Take our car,” Gibbs ordered, never actually turning to look at Tony. “And once you've documented, let Mary pick up some things for the next few days. Don't know when we'll be able to release the crime scene.”

“Yes, boss,” Tony snapped off sharply before stepping around the bed and offering Mary his arm. “Ma'am?”

Mary smiled up at him as she stood and took his arm. “I'll dig out your spare chair, dear, so you'll be ready when those doctors let you up and around.”

Greg looked happily, lovingly at his wife, ignoring Tony. Gibbs just shot his second a look that screamed, “Behave!” Disinclined to argue, Tony just smiled at both of them and led Mary from the room.

~o0o~

“So how long have you known Jethro?” Mary asked once they were underway.

“It's been … um … a bit over six years now,” Tony replied, having to think about it a moment. It surprised him to realize just how long it had been. Stan Burley had only lasted five years with Gibbs, and Gibbs had been undercover with Jen in Paris part of that time. 

“Before or after he divorced Stephanie?”

“Just after.”

“And how did you two meet?”

Tony felt as though he were being quizzed by a girlfriend's mother. Oh, meeting Jeanne's mother. That was not something he was looking forward to. “He recruited me from the Baltimore PD.”

“You must be good then,” Mary said. “Jethro seems to have trouble keeping staff at NCIS. Not that he says as much to me.”

“He's doing better these days,” Tony said, fighting a laugh. “Our current team has been the same for about a year and a half, and no one has quit or requested a transfer in three and a half.”

“Then why hasn't the team been the same for three and a half years?”

Tony winced. He'd walked himself into that one. “We lost an agent to a terrorist sniper,” he said softly.

“I'm sorry,” Mary said sympathetically. “Jethro never mentioned it. He doesn't talk about his coworkers much, I'm afraid.”

Tony couldn't stand the silence for long, not with Kate on the top of his mind now. “How long have you known Gibbs?”

“Oh my … it's been twenty years at least now,” Mary replied thoughtfully. “Greg was assigned to Jethro's team a couple of times. Jethro hasn't been as good about staying in touch since Shannon died, especially the last year or two.”

“Well, now that I know, I'll let Ducky know and he can nag Gibbs into calling,” Tony offered.

“Ducky? I've heard that name before.”

“Our medical examiner,” Tony explained. “He's known Gibbs longer than anyone else at NCIS and is excellent at reminding us to do things we'd rather forget.”

“Been on the receiving end of that one?” Mary asked lightly.

Tony let out an aggrieved sigh. “More than once,” he admitted. “But he is usually right.”

“It's good to know there's someone watching after Jethro. He's too alone these days, no wife, no girlfriend.”

“He's not alone,” Tony assured her. “Our entire team is like a family.”

“Not quite the word I'd hoped for,” Mary muttered softly.

“You prefer pack?” Tony asked, hoping Mary was aware of her husband's abilities.

“So you are one of them,” Mary said, sounding more than a touch pleased. “Like Greg.”

Tony grinned toothily. “'Fraid so.”

“Good,” Mary surprised him by saying. “I think Jethro misses the pack structure, though he seems to be avoiding it since he lost Shannon. I never quite understood what he saw in those other women. A few of the men, but never the women.”

“I think part of his lack of pack was the need to find the right people,” Tony suggested. “Ducky and Abby, our forensic scientist, work for all the teams at Anacostia, but they've long had a tighter bond with Gibbs than any other team leader. Maybe it's just being formalized, but I think he's seen them as his pack for years.”

Mary smiled and patted his arm. “Good, good. I've been worried about him, especially since I heard about the explosion.”

“We were all worried after the explosion,” Tony admitted. “But he's doing better now, and we're watching.”

“Good,” Mary said. “Now if he would just settle down with someone nice.”

“I'd think after three ex-wives he's a bit wedding shy these days,” Tony said lightly, crushing down the slight twinge of his heart at the thought of Gibbs with someone else.

“He doesn't need a wife, he needs a mate,” Mary said firmly. “And gender is not a factor, never has been with Jethro. He just foolishly fixated on females with red hair because of Shannon.”

Tony paused a moment, a bit embarrassed to be digging into Gibbs' private life with what was basically a stranger, at least to him. But how else was he supposed to find out about the boss? It wasn't like his alpha was particularly open about such things. “He does have a bit of a thing for redheads,” he said lightly. “Don't know so much about the men.” _Liar_ , he told himself, but tried to ignore it. He might dig for info, but that didn't mean he had to tell Mary about his own situation.

“Oh, Jethro has always been quite discreet,” Mary said, laughing lightly. “I think he had some bad experiences as a youth. But he had his share of lovers over the years. He and Shannon had some kind of arrangement for when they were apart. Sometimes when Shannon and I were very lonely and rather drunk, she would tell stories, both hers and his … and on a few occasions both together.”

“Oh,” Tony said, unable to conjure any other words. He'd never thought of his boss as anything other than obsessively faithful. “I didn't expect … he seemed to love Shannon so much.”

“Still does,” Mary said, smiling. “Those two were made for each other, though it took them a bit of time to come to terms.”

Tony winced at that choice of words. If Shannon was made for Gibbs, where did that leave him? It seemed like a good reason to focus on Jeanne and let Gibbs go back to his mourning.

“Jethro was the worst, to hear Shannon tell it, convinced she deserved better than a Marine grunt. But she loved him and they finally gave into the inevitable. Didn't mean neither of them didn’t have eyes anymore, however.”

Tony smiled, intrigued to note she used the same turn of phrase Gibbs had in describing how he and Shannon got together, giving in to the inevitable. “I always figured Gibbs for the jealous type.”

“He is,” Mary agreed. “But they were apart a lot. Shannon said, she didn't want to go mad while he was gone, nor did she want him to go mad, and sometimes a little company helped. As long as they were honest about it, well, it seemed to work for them. Honesty was the key though. Now Diane, she cheated on him and lied about it. That was a whole 'nother matter.”

Tony filed that tidbit away for future contemplation as he pulled into the driveway.

The conversation died as Mary stepped out of the car and plastered a cheerful expression on her face. Neither of them could miss how the front stoop was still stained with her son's blood. “Let's get this over with,” she hissed between clenched teeth.

~o0o~

Gibbs heard the sound of the elevator doors closing behind Tony and Mary.

“Sharp kid,” Greg said.

“DiNozzo's not a kid,” Gibbs said dryly, leaning back and retrieving his hand from Greg's neck. The comfort was no longer necessary, and he didn't have to control the other man around Tony anymore. “He's the best investigator I've ever worked with.” It wasn't something he'd say if Tony were there, but it was true.

“Acts like a puppy trailing his master,” Greg said pointedly.

Gibbs glared at him with a raised eyebrow, not bothering to reply. He'd heard similar lines, to the first part at least, before, and for Tony's sake did not appreciate the comparison. Tony was no puppy, no matter how some people saw him.

Greg ignored the look, reclaiming his hand from Gibbs so he could open the wrapper on the chocolate bar Mary had brought. The movement caused him to wince.

“You need me to call a nurse?” Gibbs asked.

“Rather deal with the pain for a bit. Drugs'll just put me back to sleep,” Greg said gruffly, chewing on a square of chocolate. “So how long you been sleeping with him?” 

Gibbs glared again. He did not appreciate the direction this conversation was going.

“He's just a bit too dedicated not to be your boy toy too,” Greg said teasingly. “Saw a few follow you around like that back in the Corps.”

“Wasn't sleeping with all of them,” Gibbs snapped. He and Shannon had had an agreement for when they were apart, but it still took someone special to make it worthwhile to actually take them to bed.

“Nah, just most of them.”

Gibbs glared sharply at Greg. “Only a few. Sleeping with one's subordinates often creates stresses in a mixed group.” It was a risk he'd taken when he first took Tony to bed, but it had turned out well so far. Though that was quite possibly because no one else knew.

“And now?” Greg asked, meeting Gibbs eyes steadily. “You can't cow me with that look anymore, Gunny.”

“We're not sleeping together,” Gibbs grunted. He was impressed. He had seen alpha potential in Greg when they were back in the corps, and he seemed to have gotten stronger and more confident since he was injured. “He has a girlfriend.” Oh, that hurt to say.

“Huh ... “Greg said, a thoughtful look on his face. “I haven't seen you that confident in anyone at your back since Shannon.”

Gibbs paled at the comparison. It was all too accurate for his comfort. Suddenly he was glad no one at NCIS knew how he'd been with Shannon so they couldn't make the same connection. 

“Never seen you like that with another in the Corps, so there's got to be something special between you.”

“Some of that's just DiNozzo,” Gibbs admitted. “He's a beta by nature.”

“Some of it?” Greg continued to pry.

“It's complicated,” Gibbs admitted, finally looking away. “Part of it was that we ...” He trailed off, trying to figure out how to put it. “We were together for almost a year, but I screwed up. The explosion put me into a coma and when I came out of it I thought I'd just survived the one in Kuwait.” Greg winced. “I ran, vanished for four months. I forgot him, and even when things started coming back I didn't make the connection. You can probably tell my wives apart better than I can these days. A lot of it's still a jumble. I'm still sorting out memories of DiNozzo from a dozen other men ... and Shannon.” He winced as the let that last bit out past clenched teeth. Normally he wasn't inclined to talk so much, but he'd been hiding the situation for so long it was also a relief to share it with someone. Ducky would normally get it out of him at some point, but this time there was no reason to believe Ducky knew anything was going on. Hell, the ME had barely started talking to him again.

“You gotta let this stuff out more Gunny,” Greg said with a slight shake of his head, a shocked look in his eyes. “Bottling it all up is going to kill you one day.”

Gibbs let out a bark of laughter and rolled his eyes.

“I thought you were sleeping with him,” Greg said speculatively. “But you say he reminds you of Shannon. I assume none of your other wives were ...” He trailed off and Gibbs shook his head. “Should have realized years ago. How close were you to becoming mates before the explosion?”

Gibbs sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “Nine months,” he muttered.

Greg looked at him funny. “Nine months what? You had plans to ask him in nine months?”

Gibbs shook his head, embarrassed with himself. Talking about it with Tony was hard enough, but admitting his failing to Greg was almost impossible. “I found out he was ... we made it official that day. Nine months later, I forgot everything.”

This time it was Greg who ran his hand shakily over his face. “Oh, hell, Jethro,” he muttered, disbelief coloring his voice, but Gibbs wasn't sure what to make of it. “You are a damned fool, stubborn son of a bitch.”

“Second B for bastard,” Gibbs agreed dryly.

“He repudiate you?” Greg asked, sounding pained to even consider it.

“Not yet,” Gibbs admitted softly. “But while I was gone he hooked up with a girl ... he wants to see how it works out first ... and probably see if I'm worth trusting again.”

“Don't blame the boy at all,” Greg said strongly. “He deserves better.”

Gibbs sighed. “Don't I know it.”

“You want him back?” Greg asked.

“Yes,” Gibbs said forcefully, deeply disturbed to even question it. He wanted to wipe the look of disbelief off Greg's face. “I remarried three times, redheads every time, looking for a replacement for Shannon. It wasn't until Tony came along that I realized I don't want a wife, I want a mate. Except, damned fool that I am, I never said it. He didn't know ...”

“Yep, you're an idiot,” Greg agreed. “But you've still got a chance to convince him.”

Gibbs shook his head. “We're okay at work, but he hardly ever comes by the house anymore. Hard to convince him if I never see him off the clock.”

“You're a stubborn man, Gunny,” Greg said with a grin. “I bet you can convince him.”

“Should I?” Gibbs asked, unable to hide the pain in his heart. “He deserves better.”

Greg glared at him, as harshly as he could in his weakened state. “You deserve to be happy, Gunny. And that boy worships you. I could see that. Only reason to put up with the mood you must be in today. I'm surprised you brought anyone with you today.”

“He insisted,” Gibbs admitted sheepishly, knowing that only made Greg's point.

“If you want him, go after him,” Greg urged, probably completely aware that he was echoing the advice Gibbs gave him all those years ago when he'd been courting Mary. 

Gibbs just sighed.

“You're one sorry SOB, Gunny. Here, I think you need this more than I do.” Greg snapped off a square of chocolate and popped it into his mouth before handing over the rest of the bar.

~o0o~

It took less than twenty minutes for Tony and Mary to sweep the house from top to bottom and collect a bag of clothes and toiletries for Mary and Greg to use during the next week or so.

“I guess Greg was right, he didn't have time to take anything,” Tony said, stepping into the kitchen one last time after putting the spare wheelchair in the car. “This is the first time he's been scared off.”

“Seems so,” Mary said, pausing before the refrigerator. “Maybe I should empty this out.”

“We'll send you the names of some good crime scene cleaners,” Tony told her. “They'll take care of that while they're cleaning up all the fingerprint dust.” He turned and gestured towards the front door, but Mary stayed looking at the door of the refrigerator.

“There's a picture missing,” she said, reaching out to touch the door. Tony took a quick step and stopped her before she made contact.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes, there was one of Richard and I right here, with Greg in wolf form,” she said, pointing at an empty spot on the white enamel. “I … I'm almost sure it was there the other day. I didn't take it down.”

“I need to check for finger prints, though it's likely he wore gloves,” Tony said. “It will only take a few minutes. Would you like to wait in the car?”

“Yes … I think that would be good,” Mary conceded, seeming to collapse into herself a little. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” Tony said confidently as something tickled in the back of his mind. “Every bit helps.”

~o0o~

The drive back to the hospital was rife with emotional tension. After he finished printing the front of the refrigerator, Tony had grabbed a picture of the full Peck family. Mary had smiled when he handed it to her, but even without looking at her he could tell she was on the verge of tears.

Time for a distraction.

“Forgive me, but I'm curious,” Tony started hesitantly. “How does Mr. Peck deal with his paralysis while in wolf form?”

“Worried it's a possible future?” Mary asked dryly, finally lifting her eyes from the picture.

“Well, NCIS is a rather risky job,” Tony admitted.

“He doesn't,” Mary said. “I don't think he's shifted in five years.”

Tony gasped. “That's awful.”

“It took him long enough to adjust to the wheel chair. I think he's afraid to give up even that little bit of freedom of motion.”

“That's not good,” Tony said thoughtfully. “He needs to shift, preferably at least once or twice a week. It messes with the mind and emotions.”

“Really?” Mary asked, sounding rather surprised. 

Tony hadn't expected her surprise, not for a woman who'd been married to a shifter for twenty years. “I didn't notice it so much until Gibbs explained it to me. Once I started shifting more often, I really noticed a difference.”

Mary stared out the windshield for a minute. Glancing over, Tony assured himself that she was thinking instead of crying. “How to convince him?” she muttered to herself.

Tony thought about it himself for a minute. “You two watch TV in the evenings?”

“Yes,” Mary replied, visibly puzzled.

“It's possible to watch TV as a wolf,” Tony explained. “Well, it's a bit more hear than watch, and black and white movies are nice because then the color shift doesn't matter. If he's on the couch, it doesn't matter if his back legs don't work. Sit with him, offer to scratch his ears. He might tend to fall asleep on you, but he'll probably be looking forward to it before long.”

Mary turned and smiled broadly at him. “That's a wonderful idea. Thank you so much.”

“You'll have to wait until the stitches are out to try it, but you can plant the idea while he's in recovery,” Tony said. “Might just be eager by the time he can shift.”

“You may be right. I've noticed some odd moods, but it's hard to tell what's due to the paralysis.” 

“A lot changed in a short period of time,” Tony agreed.

~o0o~

The drive back to DC began as silent as the drive down, but Gibbs didn't want to leave it that way. With Greg's encouragements in the forefront of his mind he was determined to take the first steps.

“Report,” he prompted. It was a bit of a cop out, but he wasn't exactly a master at starting conversations.

“Only thing missing was a picture from the refrigerator,” Tony replied.

Glancing over, Gibbs noticed Tony's eyes were unfocused. His second was clearly thinking hard about something. “Not quite our thief's usual pattern.”

“No … but there's something …” Tony said, clearly thinking hard. “I'll get back to you tomorrow. I need to check some things back at the office.”

“You need to get some sleep,” Gibbs said, letting a bit of concern seep into his voice. “It's been over thirty-six hours.”

“You too, boss,” Tony countered, his eyes beginning to focus on the world again.

“And I intend to go to bed as soon as I get home,” Gibbs said.

Tony snickered, shooting Gibbs a smirk. Gibbs just rolled his eyes at his second's juvenile humor.

This wasn't going the way Gibbs wanted. Tony was supposed to start talking, draw out a conversation. Instead, Gibbs was doing most of the talking and the whole conversation was at a dead end. Now what?

“Mary told me you met Greg over twenty years ago,” Tony piped up a little later. 

Gibbs let out a mental sigh of relief as Tony provided the solution he needed. “We were assigned to the same company in Panama. When we got back, we introduced our respective girlfriends to each other. Later, Mary and Richard would keep Shannon and Kelly company when we were both out of the country at the same time.”

“Military wives seem to bond like that a lot,” Tony said offhandedly, slouching into his seat.

“It's a survival trait,” Gibbs said. “Who else understands what you're going through than another wife? The military members have similar bonds.”

“Do you miss it?” Tony asked.

Gibbs needed a moment to switch directions. “Miss what?”

“Bonding with other military men?” Tony replied.

“Never stopped,” Gibbs said, shrugging. “Even if I didn't work at NCIS I'd still be in contact with any number of old comrades. As it is, I run into them in relation to cases all the time.”

“Huh, hadn't thought about it that way,” Tony said thoughtfully.

“It's like you staying in contact with your frat brothers and people from the other forces you worked on,” Gibbs explained. 

Tony's eyes lit up as his mind made the connection. “Gotcha, boss.”

Gibbs grumbled mentally to himself as the conversation hit another dead end. No wonder his relationships always failed if he couldn't hold up a conversation for ten minutes that wasn't work related.

“So how come you never told me about them, about Greg?” Tony asked softly.

“I don't tell the world about the people in my life,” Gibbs said softly. He bit back the urge to add, 'unlike you.' “I've been keeping work and home separate for so long ... It's hard to change that.”

“But you're starting to try?” Tony asked, hoping, pleading.

“You're the first person I told about Shannon since she died,” Gibbs answered, hoping that was enough of an answer.

“Except you didn't tell me until circumstances forced you to,” Tony complained.

“I was thinking about it, even before the explosion,” Gibbs said, his forehead furrowing as he dug through the tangled mess of his memories. “I think ... I just hadn't gotten up the nerve yet. I should have told you before our first night together. Wasn't fair to you ...” He hoped Tony appreciated how hard it was to say these things.

Tony sighed and thumped his head back against his headrest. “No, it wasn't. But you're trying now. Just ... keep trying.”

Gibbs considered the matter in silence, slaloming between semis and minivans on the highway to DC. “It's time, especially if we're to be a pack as well as a team. I need to introduce my past to my present. How about a barbecue at my place this summer?”

Tony stared at him for over a minute, his jaw almost hitting the parking brake. Finally, Gibbs leaned over and tapped his second's chin up. “You mean that?” Tony whispered.

“You're going to have to help me set up, send out invitations ...” Gibbs warned, but he was secretly delighted by Tony's reaction.

“Abby'd be better help,” Tony suggested, his eyes alight with excitement.

“But you're my second.”

Grinning, Tony finally leaned back against the headrest, looking ahead. “Sounds like a good idea. I'm looking ...” He paused as a yawn tried to split his skull. “... forward to it.”

“Why don't I go straight to my place?” Gibbs said before he could think it through. “It's been a long day.” He couldn't miss the wince that crossed Tony's face, nor the uneasy set of his shoulders. “The guest room is made up,” he added.

“I'd like to,” Tony admitted softly. “But I need to go back to the office for a few. Something's bugging me and if I don't check it now I might lose the thread.”

Gibbs repressed a sigh and stayed stoic despite the way his heart sank. He wanted Tony to come home with him, but he couldn't deny that work came first for both of them. “Don't stay too long. You need some sleep tonight.”

“I'll get some sleep,” Tony promised.


	3. Chapter 3

Gibbs stepped off the elevator at 0630 hours, a large cup of black coffee in his left hand. Nerves and anger had ensured he only got six hours of sleep last night, but it was enough to recharge him for the day ahead as long as he kept well caffeinated. 

One thing he did not expect to find when he stepped into his team's space in the bull pen was Tony sitting at his desk, clearly wearing the same clothes as the night before.

“I thought I told you to go home and get some sleep last night,” Gibbs barked. Stopping right in front of Tony's desk, he couldn't miss either the bleary eyes or the hint of triumph on Tony's face.

“You told me to get some sleep. Going home was not part of the agreement,” Tony replied teasingly.

“You knew what I meant,” Gibbs snapped. “And you don't look like you got any sleep either.”

“Two hours on Abby's futon,” Tony countered. “Check the security cameras.”

“Don't tempt me,” Gibbs growled. 

“But I figured it out,” Tony said gleefully, refusing to let Gibbs' anger drag him down. “He steals pictures from every home. Oh, there might be some jewelry missing, a few pricey odds and ends, but there's always at least one picture missing. And it's not for the frame.” Tony handed Gibbs a report containing the list of items stolen from every victim, including the former military families they'd just learned about yesterday. Abby had gotten that much from the police servers. They were compared and correlated to show exactly what Tony was saying.

“Plain wood frame, cheap metal … these are nothing special,” Gibbs agreed, skimming the list.

“Mementos,” Tony said smugly.

Gibbs paused and looked over the list again. “Wait … thieves don't often take mementos.”

“We haven't found a single clue that he's selling what he steals,” Tony pointed out. “What if it's not the theft that's the point? What if the murders are the point?”

Gibbs considered that. “The only connection between these families is the military.”

“They don't attend the same schools, churches, groups. Most of them live on base at Quantico or in Dumfries and Triangle right outside base, but not all, and not all in the same part of town. There's no reason to go driving all over Virginia for a few small items here and there when you could get the same from a single neighborhood. For that matter, any single take could be better than all these put together if the guy bothered to go for the whole jewelry box or a few electronics. As thefts, these don't make sense.”

“So what is the connection?” Gibbs muttered. “There are more military families in the area than these few, so why is he picking them?”

“Still working on that part, boss,” Tony admitted before letting out a huge yawn. “I was hoping I could turn something up in the interviews.”

“You need more sleep first,” Gibbs said, his tone making it clear that was an order.

“I'm fine, boss,” Tony said halfheartedly. The words were countered even more when he yawned again.

“Two hours in the last forty-eight? And how many the night before? Even when the rest of us are on down time, you're still running full tilt. You're working too hard, adding in this stuff for the Director,” Gibbs said softly so as not to be overheard. “Go home and sleep. I don't want to see you back before three.”

“My interviews,” Tony protested.

“When?”

“Ten hundred I have a phone call with Captain Wilkins’ parents in Arizona. I originally interviewed them when they were out for the funerals last June. Thirteen hundred I'm meeting with Staff Sergeant Bizarro's sister, who lives down the street from his old place. Eighteen hundred with Mr. FitzWilliam's sister. She's got an apartment in DC,” Tony replied.

“McGee can handle the Wilkins call. He helped back in June. I'll take the thirteen hundred,” Gibbs said. “Email me the details. You'll be back in time for the FitzWilliam interview.”

“You sure, boss?” Tony asked hesitantly even as his hand reached for his bag. The other hand was tapping something into his computer. Gibbs hoped that was the email he had requested.

“Go home, sleep, eat, and shower,” Gibbs ordered. “Don't come back before sixteen hundred.”

“Sent McGee and Ziva copies of the report. Hey, you said fifteen hundred earlier,” Tony protested even as he turned off his computer, stood, and slung his bag on his shoulder.

“Get going or I'll take all of the interviews and you can come back tomorrow,” Gibbs snapped.

“Yes, boss. Right away, boss,” Tony said, almost laughing as he walked towards the elevator. “Don't forget to ask about the pictures,” he called over his shoulder.

~o0o~

Ziva was puzzled to see Tony leaving the elevator as she arrived.

“Where are you going?” she asked, noticing that he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday.

“Home,” Tony said gruffly, pushing quickly past her. 

She grabbed his arm before he could get away. “What's wrong with you?” she asked worriedly.

“Nothing. Gibbs’ orders,” he replied, shaking off her hand and striding away. 

Ziva could only turn and watch him go until he was out of sight in the parking lot. Going upstairs she wondered what had just happened. Tony never got sent home early. Usually he stayed longer than anyone else, like yesterday afternoon. Could this have something to do with all his doctor’s appointments? She had pointed them out to Gibbs recently, for all that he had done with the information. Or rather, hadn't done.

Arriving in the bullpen, she found Gibbs at his desk. Looking at him carefully she saw no sign of worry on his face, no hint as to what drove him to send Tony home. Or at least she could see nothing beyond the stoic mask and the burning anger in his eyes, both of which had been present the night before.

“Good morning,” she said politely as she settled at her desk.

“Morning,” Gibbs grunted.

“Why did you send Tony home?” she asked politely.

“Check your email.”

Ziva didn't know what to make of that, but did check her email. There was an email from Tony containing a long report comparing the items stolen from each home as well as the people who had died, looking for a correlation.

“When did he write this?” Ziva asked in surprise at the detailed analysis.

Gibbs didn't answer.

At the end of the report, Ziva found a summary of Gregory Peck's statement as given to Special Agents Gibbs and DiNozzo last night. Before she could ask about that, Tim arrived.

“McGee, get a sketch artist over to Potomac Hospital by this afternoon,” Gibbs ordered before the younger agent had a chance to sit down.

“Mr. Peck woke up?” Tim asked excitedly, 

Ziva watched Gibbs nod stiffly. “Tony's summary of the interview is in your email,” Ziva added.

“Where is Tony?” Tim asked, glancing over at the senior agent's desk.

“Home,” Gibbs said shortly. Tim seemed to give that only a moment's thought before shrugging as though he didn't care, which drove Ziva nuts. What was going on with Tony and was she the only one who didn't know?

“You're taking his phone interview with Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins at ten. Review the interview notes from last June,” Gibbs added.

“Yes, boss,” Tim said, quickly booting up his computer.

Orders given, Gibbs seemed content to focus on his desk for the next half hour. Ziva watched him read through several folders, but she couldn't identify their contents. She was relieved when his coffee cup hit the trashcan and Gibbs stalked for the elevator.

The instant the doors closed behind him, she was across the bull pen and leaning over Tim's desk. “What is going on?” she hissed.

“What?” Tim asked distractedly, his eyes still focused on his computer screen.

“What is going on?” Ziva repeated curtly. “Gibbs obsessing over this cold case, then his friend gets involved and everyone seems to know something about him but me. Now Gibbs sends Tony home for the day? This is not normal.”

Tim turned to look at her, but had to blink several times before his eyes properly focused. “Gibbs tends to get obsessed over cases with kids involved,” he said as though it were obvious. “Happens all the time. And this one, with so many murders going unsolved, that tends to get his goat too.”

“And the Pecks?” Ziva asked. Tim had a point so far, but she was still missing something.

“Umm, I've only heard as much as you have,” Tim insisted. “Though Mrs. Peck was pleased to hear Gibbs was leading up this case.”

“What is so special about this family?” Ziva demanded.

“Gibbs is very protective of his old friends,” Tim said, shrugging.

At face value, that seemed like a plausible explanation, but Ziva detected an uneasy twitch in Tim's forehead that implied he was hiding something. She would find out what. “And Tony?”

“He was clearly here when Gibbs got the call that Gregory Peck was awake, and from the look of this,” Time gestured at the report open on his screen, “he was here all night. Gibbs probably just sent him home to get some sleep.”

Ziva shook her head. “I do not believe that. Gibbs never sends us home for sleep when the case is hot.”

“He sent us home yesterday at four,” Tim pointed out.

“Tony could have done that work during the day,” Ziva insisted. “It is his fault if he wanted to stay up all night.”

Tim shrugged. “I don't know, but it's between them and if Gibbs doesn't want to talk about it ...”

“You know something,” Ziva said, pointed her finger between his eyes. “You know something and I will find out what it is.”

“If you say so,” Tim replied blandly, turning back to his computer screen. Unfortunately for him, his poker face needed more work and it was clear he was worried about something. About her finding out what he was hiding?

Was she not a part of this team? What were they hiding from her?

She returned to her desk to continue making calls and interview appointments, but she would be watching for a chance to corner Gibbs in private. He would talk to her yet. 

~o0o~

Tim was relieved when he was called down to the evidence locker to check in the files and evidence sent up by the police forces of the four Virginia cities with recognized similar cases. He was rather looking forward to doing a proper comparison, hoping and praying there was some clue the police had found that would lead them to the killer. Goodness knew his interview call this morning hadn't netted him anything useful.

Of course, the real reason he was relieved right now was it got him away from Gibbs' snapping and Ziva's boring eyes. She knew he was hiding something about the Pecks, not that he had any evidence that one or all of them were shifters, and he knew he was going to break if left alone with her too long. He needed to have a word with Gibbs, soon. Though Tony would be better. No, Tony would feel safer. Going anywhere near Gibbs right now was a dangerous proposition, and it always seemed easier when Tony was around to play buffer. But someone had to tell Gibbs that Ziva was prying. Especially since she'd been making calls in Hebrew, probably to her contacts. Who knew what she might dig up.

But, that wasn't his priority right now. Looking through those boxes was his priority now, and something didn't look quite right.

“Are you sure this is everything?” Tim asked Tammy, the woman in charge of the evidence locker this shift.

“What's wrong?” Tammy countered.

“Dumfries has three cases, but just one box, while Aquia has one case and three boxes,” Tim answered, shifting around the pile of file boxes.

“That does seem odd,” Tammy agreed. She checked over the paperwork she had accepted when the files came in. “One box is all that the Dumfries police department shipped.”

“Odd,” Tim muttered. “I'm going to take the evidence up to Abby … you're sure this is everything?”

“That's the lot,” Tammy insisted. “All checked in. Just sign here.”

“Thanks, Tammy,” Tim said, pushing the cart of boxes into the elevator.

Abby was bopping around the lab, looking far too busy to be working on Gibbs' case. “Hey, Abby,” Tim bellowed over the music. “Got the evidence from Virginia.”

“Sweet,” Abby cried excitedly, turning the music down a notch or two as she finished setting up a fingerprint search.

“Whose case is this?” Tim asked, putting the box from Dumfries on her workbench first. He wanted a look at those reports.

“Oh, just starting to look into a few things for Bollman. He caught a possible murder in Norfolk last night.” Abby was quick to sign the log that Tim presented, allowing him to finally open that box. “What do we have here?”

“A quandary,” Tim replied. “Dumfries has three times the cases and one third the data.” Inside the box was a selection of fingerprints, all identified as belonging to the homeowner or friends thereof, some bullets, and a few thin files. 

“There's nothing in here,” Abby commented worriedly, piling the fingerprints to one side.

“Sure looks that way,” Tim said, his brow furrowing in confusion as he flipped through the files. There were a few initial reports for the cases where NCIS had been called in. However, the three cases that had remained in local hands had barely more in their files. There were a few reports on the fingerprints and summaries of the autopsy reports, but no final reports signed by the coroner or the forensic staff. There were implications that there had been interviews with friends and family, but no notes from those interviews had been added to the official files. 

“Gibbs isn't going to like this,” Abby said nervously as she read over his shoulder.

“All these cases are headed by Detective Coltrain,” Tim noted. “Maybe he kept his notes separate from the case files.”

Abby shook her head disapprovingly. “Sloppy.”

“I'll call him directly as soon as we check the rest of these are in better shape,” Tim said, setting the Dumfries files aside and grabbing a box from Aquia.

~o0o~

“Ziva, you're with me,” Gibbs ordered abruptly, tossing his first coffee cup of the afternoon into the trash and grabbing a file of notes from his desk.

While Ziva was frantically trying to figure out who they were going to interview and where the right notes were, Gibbs stepped over to Tim's desk.

“You're in charge while we're gone,” he ordered. “Unless it affects the interview questions, anything you or Abby come up with can wait until we get back. Call if there's another case.”

“Yes, boss,” Tim replied, obviously filing the orders away properly and turning back to the files he'd been sorting through all morning.

“And if DiNozzo arrives before four, tell him he's in deep but put him to work,” Gibbs added. “Unless he still looks like death warmed over, in which case send him home.”

“Boss?” Tim said quietly, his head tilted slightly to bare his neck. In that one word he managed to pack his loyalty to Gibbs orders and yet express his disbelief that Tony would go home if Tim ordered him to.

“I'm leaving _you_ in charge,” Gibbs growled softly, which made Tim nod. Gibbs was pleased at the lack of obvious nerves in the face of his growl, despite the edgy set of the younger agent's shoulders all morning. Tim was shaping up well, though he still had a bit to go.

Deciding he had given Ziva enough time to scramble, he turned and stalked towards the elevator. She barely made it between the doors before they closed, but she did make it.

“You're hiding something from me,” Ziva said before she'd stopped moving from her run to catch him.

Gibbs gave her a firm look. “If you need to know, I'll tell you,” he informed her gruffly.

“Whatever-it-is is effecting everyone's behavior on this case, including yours,” Ziva said pointedly.

“But not the case,” Gibbs countered. Her digging could explain those phone calls in Hebrew this morning and the nervous look Tim had been sporting since Gibbs went for coffee the first time. “And stop interrogating McGee. Should the need arise, _I_ will tell you.”

He refused to respond to any further questions or queries until she settled into silence for the drive to Triangle. It was a relief when she finally stopped trying. To be honest, he wasn't sure how to tell her, or what. This case was getting far too personally complicated.

~o0o~

Ziva followed Gibbs up the steps of Lucinda Montgomery's house at five minutes before two in the afternoon. They would have been even earlier, what with Gibbs doing the driving, but they had gone a little out of their way and stopped for coffee near the Quantico main entrance. Based on the reaction of the man behind the register, the employees of that particular shop had become far too familiar with Gibbs over the last few months.

Reviewing the case notes Ziva had brought with her, she noted that Lucinda was the younger sister of retiredStaff Sergeant James Bizarro, killed in May of last year along with his wife, Eglantine.

Eglantine?

Sometimes these English names confused her immensely.

“Mrs. Montgomery?” Gibbs began politely when an older woman opened the door at his knock. “I'm Special Agent Jethro Gibbs of NCIS. This is Officer Ziva David. You spoke with my second, Special Agent Tony DiNozzo, yesterday.”

There was a look in her eyes that went from tense and worried to welcoming at those words. Ziva wondered at the cause. Usually people did not relax when faced with federal agents, even when they were innocent of any wrongdoing.

“Come in,” Lucinda said, waving them in. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

The inside of the house was decorated simply. The style was a mixture of different areas, possibly influencedby the different areas of the world that the Montgomerys had traveled to while Lieutenant Colonel Montgomery was in the Corps. There was a lovely Japanese screen against one wall, opposite a painting that had surely been bought in a European street fair.

“No thank you, ma'am,” Gibbs said, though he had left his half empty coffee cup in the car.

Ziva just shook her head, her attention focused on the pictures on the mantle.

“My husband,” Lucinda said fondly, following Ziva's gaze as she sat in an armchair. Ziva assumed she was talking about the tall man in uniform in several of the pictures. She recognized Staff Sergeant Bizarro in several of the photos, along with his wife. However, she didn't remember any reference to the Bizarro's owning dogs, nor did she see any sign of the damage that dogs do to a house in this home, yet there were dogs in at least half the photos on the mantle.

“A grand looking man,” Ziva offered awkwardly, claiming a spot on the couch.

“He was,” Lucinda said, seeming pleased. “I've missed him since the car accident. James and Eglantine were so supportive in the aftermath. I admit, I'm at a bit of a loss as to what I'm going to do now, with them and Margery gone.”

“Your losses this last year have been intolerable,” Gibbs said in that kindly tone that seemed to settle older folks and children so well. He sat in the chair next to Lucinda, leaning forward on his knees as he spoke quietly and earnestly. “I hate to tell you, but we've come to believe that the death of your brother and your niece may be connected.”

“I told him,” Lucinda hissed, shaking her hand angrily. “I told that blasted detective that their deaths sounded too similar, but he kept saying I was mistaken. Just because I'm older and a woman doesn't mean I'm an idiot.”

“What detective?” Gibbs asked worriedly, sitting up straight as his military training took over in his surprise.

“The one from Dumfries. He handled Margery's death,” Lucinda said.

“But we are handling the FitzWilliam's case,” Ziva said quizzically.

“Do you remember this detective's name?” Gibbs asked politely, but with a bite in his tone. 

“I believe he left a card, just in case I remembered something,” Lucinda said dryly, standing and walking to her desk in the next room.

~o0o~

It was a relief to finally have the bull pen to himself. Tim had been feeling cornered all day, which meant he'd been going through the files at a much slower rate than was normal. With Gibbs and Ziva gone he could finally focus.

Unfortunately for Tim, that focus didn't last more than an hour. He ignored the ding of the elevator doors until he caught movement in the far side of the team's space out of the corner of his eye. He looked over to check if it was Tony arriving early, but instead found himself looking at an unfamiliar man wearing a visitor's badge and a sour expression.

“Can I help you?” Tim asked, standing and stepping around his desk. 

“I'm looking for Special Agent Gibbs,” the stranger snapped, turning to Tim and flashing a badge attached to his belt, probably for a local detective.

“He's out of the office for the next few hours. I'm Special Agent McGee. Perhaps I can help you?”

The detective glared at Tim and leaned a hip against Tony's desk in an insolent slouch. “I doubt it.”

“You don't know until you ask,” Tim said encouragingly even as he fought down the urge to call security and have them drag the man out. Usually a patient man, this detective seemed determined to push every one of Tim's buttons, leaving him feeling on a deep level that his territory had been invaded. 

“I doubt you have the authority to tell me why the Director of NCIS had my case files and evidence boxed up and shipped out,” the man said angrily.

“Because they match several cases we have been investigating, and your boss and our boss thought we had the best resources to deal with them,” Tim countered firmly, standing straight and using his height advantage to look down on the detective. “Which lead detective are you?” he asked, having a bad feeling about the answer.

~o0o~

“He left his card, I know he did,” Lucinda muttered, flipping through the piles of paper on her desk until she came up with a small square of cardboard. “Here. Detective Coltrain,” she announced, coming back into the living room.

“What?” Gibbs snapped, standing and taking the card from her.

“You know him?” Ziva asked, trying to place the name.

“He was the detective in charge at Greg's,” Gibbs grumbled. “And he never mentioned there were similar cases on his docket.”

“He should have,” Lucinda said firmly. “He's been by twice about Margery's death and been needling me for details about James.”

“I think we'll have to have a talk with Detective Coltrain,” Gibbs said grimly, but his eyes softened when he turned back to Lucinda. “Thank you,” he said to her kindly.

“No, thank you,” Lucinda countered. “If you can find the bastard who killed my people, the thanks are all yours.”

“Oh, I don't need thanks to go for him,” Gibbs promised her. “He messed with the wrong family the other day.”

~o0o~

“Detective Coltrain,” the man replied smugly.

“Ah, I called your office this morning,” Tim said, turning and picking up the thin stack of files from Dumfries even as his stomach clenched unhappily. “They said you were working night shift today.”

“I got in early and found you'd stolen my cases,” Coltrain snapped. “Drove straight here.”

“You must have missed my message asking you to call back,” Tim said calmly, though it was a struggle to stay so in the face of such animosity. “But this works just as well. I had a number of questions to ask you regarding your files.”

“I'm not here to answer your questions,” Coltrain said rudely. “I'm here to reclaim my files and my evidence. NCIS has no authority over _my_ cases.”

~o0o~

“In the police report,” Ziva said, “it says that several photos were stolen from your brother's house, along with a few items of jewelry. Do you know exactly which photos?” If Tony was right and their killer was taking mementos then there might be a clue to how he chose his victims in the type of photo he chose to steal.

“Actually, I do,” Lucinda said. She walked over to the mantle and picked up two photos, one of a cluster of dogs playing with a young child, perhaps one of Margery's children, and the other showing Eglantine Bizarro with her arms around another large dog. She looked at them sadly before handing them to Ziva. “The first was taken from Margery's house, the second from James'. Those are the ones I'm certain about.”

“Might we have these?” Gibbs asked, looking over Ziva's shoulder at the photos. “For the case file. We can scan them and return them shortly.”

“Of course,” Lucinda replied. “I have the negatives, so if you need to keep them ...”

“We will return them shortly,” Ziva promised, slipping the photos out of their frames and returning the frames to their owner. “Once we've compared them with any other stolen photos we can identify.”

Gibbs claimed the photos from Ziva, studying them carefully for a moment before saying, “Thank you, ma'am. We'll be in touch if we have any further questions,” and stalking out the door.

“Oh, that killer messed with the wrong alpha male,” Lucinda muttered, watching Gibbs go.

“Gibbs will catch this murderer,” Ziva assured her. “He has become rather obsessed with this case.”

“I expected nothing less,” Lucinda said, grinning oddly. “And you tell that nice Agent DiNozzo I want to meet him next time. He has such a nice voice.” 

Ziva raised an eyebrow at that comment but held her tongue on the subject of Tony. “I'll tell him you said so.”

“You do that. Have a good day, young lady.”

~o0o~

Tim had never been so happy to see Tony as he was when the man walked into the bull pen that afternoon, a full hour and a half before Gibbs had told him to return. Coltrain was being impossible, refusing to answer questions and just insisting he was waiting to see Gibbs. If Tim had to watch the man slouch insolently in front of him much longer, he was going to do something foolish.

“Tony, this is Detective Coltrain. He's the lead detective for the Dumfries cases,” Tim said as soon as Tony arrived next to his desk. “Detective, this is Special Agent DiNozzo.”

“We’ve met,” Coltrain said abruptly.

Tim shot Tony a questioning look to which Tony replied, “At the Peck residence two nights ago. And last June at the Wilkins residence, as I recall.”

“Good memory,” Coltrain said derisively.

“What can we do for you, Detective?” Tony asked, taking his desk back from the other man by sheer force of presence.

“I'm here to see Special Agent Gibbs about getting my cases back,” Coltrain said, even as he took a few steps back from Tony's desk.

“I'm afraid that won't be possible,” Tony replied in a seemingly reasonable and apologetic tone. “Your chief and my director agreed that those cases belong to NCIS.”

“No,” Coltrain snarled. “My chief told me Special Agent Gibbs demanded those files without proper cause and I'm here to demand them back.”

“If we didn't have proper cause to claim those files,” Tony said calmly, “why did your superiors send them up?”

Coltrain just glared at him, but even from an odd angle Tim could tell the man had nothing on Gibbs in the glare department.

“Actually, I'm more curious why there's nothing in those files,” Tim cut in. “Where are the interview notes? The case summaries? The autopsy reports?” He'd asked the questions before, earlier, and doubted the Coltrain would actually answer now, but it was worth trying and would give Tony a better idea of the situation.

“Somewhere you'll never find them,” Coltrain said, rounding on Tim angrily.

“Are you intentionally interfering with our investigation?” Tony's voice was calm, but there was an angry light in his eyes that Tim was more used to seeing in Gibbs' expression.

“What the hell are you going to do about it?” Coltrain countered cockily. “You're not even in charge of this case anymore. Whatcha do to get yourself demoted?”

“Not a thing,” Tony said, grinning back, but the grin had too many teeth and didn't reach his eyes. He leaned back in his seat, his hands propped behind his head, lounging in that smug way that drove Tim nuts when the case was hot and Tony was about to reveal his newest bit of police work. “When's the boss due back, McGee?” Even as he spoke to Tim, his eyes never left Coltrain.

“Depends on how long the interview goes,” Tim started, then paused when his phone rang. He picked up and barely had time to say, “McGee,” before Gibbs began speaking.

“Call Dumfries PD. I want Detective Coltrain in front of my desk first thing tomorrow.”

“He's there already,” Tim said, beginning to feel a touch amused.

“Keep him there,” Gibbs barked. In the background the car's engine revved louder and honking horns indicated Gibbs had probably just cut several people off in his increased rush.

“Tony's in early, too,” Tim added before Gibbs could hang up.

“How's he look?” There was an odd tenderness to the question that Tim couldn't quite place.

“Normal,” Tim replied, uncertain how else to answer.

Gibbs grumbled something unclear then said, “Put him to work.” He hung up before Tim could reply.

“Boss should be back soon,” Tim said as he hung up. “And says you're in deep.”

Tony gave him a sharp look, but before he could say anything, Coltrain cut in.

“Oh? Do tell. What has Special Agent DiNozzo done to get himself into trouble this time? Are you even capable of going ten minutes without pissing someone off?”

Tony gave the detective a sharp look, then pointedly turned to Tim. “What for this time?”

Tim turned to Tony, trying to block Coltrain out with his body language. “You weren't supposed to come back until four,” he said. “Gibbs left me in charge.”

Tony snorted, and this time his grin reached his eyes. “Congratulations. What are your orders, boss?”

A warm flush suffused Tim at that choice of words and he knew Tony had done it on purpose. “You did good with the report you wrote last night, but you need to double check that the case files we just got match.”

“You mean that's not what you've been doing all day?” Tony asked teasingly.

Tim just shook his head. “Just read the files, though Dumfries files are a waste of time. Aren't they, Detective Coltrain?”

“They're my files,” Coltrain said insistently.

“I may not be able to make you cough up the rest of the files,” Tim said, “but Gibbs will be here soon.” He let the implied threat linger, noting the uncertain look on the detective's face with a sense of pride. He really did have the best alpha.

~o0o~

Gibbs stalked off the elevator and strode full speed tohis desk. He had made no stops, allowed no delays on his way back to the office, including a lack of coffee. It might have allowed him to shave almost twenty minutes off the drive, but did nothing to improve his mood.

He was pleased to note that Tony and Tim were working diligently at their desks, ignoring the ass who was standing in the middle of the bull pen ranting something about giving back his files. Gibbs ignored him too, stopping in front of Tony's desk to look his second over carefully. The man looked much better, showered, shaved, and at least somewhat rested.

He glared firmly for about a minute, until Tony looked up at him. The cocky grin visible to anyone and everyone indicated that Tony felt on top of his game, but the slight tilt of his head, baring his neck just slightly, showed he knew he was in trouble too. Good. Gibbs could chew him out later, when there weren't others watching, as long as he admitted he was in the wrong.

Gibbs could feel Ziva's curious gazeboring into his back, and ignored it. Instead, he gave Tony a nod, then glanced up at the balcony above them and looked pointedly at Tony. Then he turned away, glaring at Coltrain as he passed on his way to his desk. “What brings you here?” he barked as he sat.

“You stole my cases,” Coltrain whined, walking over the lean possessively on Gibbs' desk.

Gibbs simply looked up at him with one raised eyebrow. This was not a man who could dominate, whether he had the height advantage or not.

“It's bad enough I have to hand over the cases with members of the military,” Coltrain continued, a hint of uncertainty building at Gibbs' lack of reaction. “But you have no right to take away cases that have no military connection.”

“Victims in _your_ cases,” Gibbs said, putting a sarcastic emphasis on the possessive, “were once members of the Marines and Navy.”

“Ex-military is not your jurisdiction,” Coltrain countered peevishly.

“But cases that match the MO of a case that does have military victims do potentially fall under my jurisdiction,” Gibbs said calmly.

“Those are my cases,” Coltrain whined again.

“Your chief of detectives did not seem to agree after talking with my director,” Gibbs countered.

“He said your director demanded those files, stole them from us.”

“I did no such thing,” Jen announced from the turn in the stair. Gibbs had noticed her watching for the last minute or so, after Tony called her office. “Chief of Detectives Carter was quite reasonable and agreed that the cases sounded enough like ours that he was happy to turn them over to NCIS.”

Coltrain turned to stare at Jen, but took on a cocky air when he realized he was facing a woman. “Well, I don't agree and I'm not willing to turn my cases over.”

“You haven't,” Tim grumbled.

“Explain, Special Agent McGee,” Jen ordered.

“The files sent to us from Dumfries barely contain preliminary reports and a few scraps of evidence,” Tim replied.

“There isn't any more evidence,” Coltrain said cockily.

“Interview summaries. Autopsy reports. Progress reports. These are not evidence, and they are not in the case files,” Tim snapped back.

“It sounds to me like either you haven't actually been working these cases,” Jen said haughtily, “or you've been hiding these cases from your coworkers and the other agencies.”

“I have been working _my_ cases,” Coltrain said with equal attitude.

“And since when did any of your cases include questioning Lucinda Montgomery about the deaths of James and Eglantine Bizarro?” Ziva cut in. “Or about Margery FitzWilliam?”

That caught Coltrain cold, and he turned and gaped at her like a landed fish.

“Officer David?” Jen asked pointedly.

“Major Margery FitzWilliam's death is an NCIS investigation, and the Bizarros died in Triangle,” Ziva explained calmly. “Neither of which are under the detective's jurisdiction.”

“Perhaps you should have thought more carefully before making demands you can't back up,” Jen suggested.

Coltrain looked around, glancing at everyone with a calculating air. “These cases are my chance for a promotion,” he announced. “I can help.”

“What can you offer?” Gibbs demanded. “Other than those elements of the case files you've hidden?”

“I've been looking for this guy for months,” Coltrain countered. “I recognized the pattern ages ago.”

“And promptly hid it,” Tony cut in. “There's nothing worse getting in the way of a case than a self serving cop.”

“I'm close,” Coltrain snapped, glaring at Tony. Gibbs wanted to stand up and slap the man, across the face rather than the back of the head. He didn't deserve the respect of the latter. “I share my insights, you keep me in the loop and give me some of the credit when the case is solved.”

Gibbs didn't like it, but he glanced up at Jen. She was the politician. Her face was screwed up with disapproval, but she nodded. “Convince us of your worth,” Gibbs said, refusing to fully agree to share anything with this idiot.

Coltrain turned back to Gibbs and gave him a hard look, unimpressive though it was. “He steals photos,” he said brusquely. “They could be reminders of his point of contact.”

“I'll consider that and let you know if it pans out,” Gibbs offered half-heartedly. 

Sniffing disdainfully, Coltrain said, “I'll expect to hear from you by the end of the week, or my interview notes stay right where they are.”

“Get out,” Gibbs growled. That finally seemed to distress Coltrain enough to send him packing, though there was still a bit of a strut to his walk that made it clear he thought he'd won.

When the elevator door had chimed shut behind him, Jen turned to Gibbs. “Is there anything to his tip?”

“DiNozzo made the connection last night. We're looking into it,” Gibbs answered.

Jen scowled but ordered, “Keep him out of it as much as possible, but if we need those files, play nice.”

Gibbs nodded when she trailed off, and that was enough to send her back to her office. Gibbs stared at his computer monitor, still off, and the files on his desk, but finally decided what he needed to do was clear his head. He was missing something important about this case. He just couldn't figure out what.

“DiNozzo, take McGee to your next interview. David, you can leave at five. You three better have some new ideas when you get in tomorrow.” With that, he stood and left the bull pen. Maybe some time with his boat would snap things into place. Or some sleep.

He doubted the effectiveness of either.


	4. Chapter 4

Tony drove back to NCIS headquarters with a frown on his lips. The interview with Virgina FitzWilliam had been a waste of time. She had no idea what photos had been taken, and barely knew any had been taken. It was one of her brother's neighbors who'd noted that one was missing from the mantle. 

“Probie, set up an interview with that neighbor,” Tony ordered. Maybe that interview would be useful. Though they already knew which photo was missing thanks to Lucinda Montgomery.

“I'll get the name from the old case notes,” Tim promised, making a note in his PDA.

Tony dodged a few more trucks and pulled into the Anacostia Naval base. “You can type your notes in the morning,” he suggested.

“I'll do it tonight,” Tim said, following Tony towards the elevator. “Maybe in going over it again an idea will pop up.

Tony chuckled dryly. “I thought that last night.”

“Worked from the look of the report I found in my email this morning,” Tim said lightly.

“For all the good it did us today.”

Tim looked edgy and then leaned forward to hit the emergency stop. “About that … umm ...”

“Spit it out, McProbie,” Tony snapped tiredly.

“Ziva was more than a little confused this morning. Well, so was I, but … well, Ziva has been asking a lot of questions, about the Peck's, about Gibbs, and about you. She thinks we're hiding something from her.”

“She'd be right,” Tony said dryly, leaning back against the elevator wall.

“Well, that's true,” Tim admitted.

“I don't know what you expect me to do about it.” Tony wasn't going to admit it right now, but he wasn't interested in dealing with a prying Ziva right now. He had more than enough to worry about without adding troubles from within the team.

“I don't know,” Tim said with a shrug. “I just thought you should know, before she does something to blindside you.”

“Ah, you mean she investigates like she drives.”

Tim chuckled. “Too true.” He leaned over and hit the emergency stop. “I don't think she knows about shifters.”

“Yet,” Tony said, thumping his head against the wall. This case just keptgetting more and more complicated. “Thanks for the warning, Tim,” he added, clapping his hand on the younger man's shoulder as he stepped off elevator, pressing his fingers into Tim's neck for just a moment.

Tony was going to type his notes fast and head over to Jeanne's. He needed a break from this case, to clear his mind. Even his dreams today had been full of this case. Maybe with Jeanne he could forget, just for a bit.

~o0o~

“Are you all right?” You seem tense?”

At the sound of Jeanne's voice, Tony couldntquite resist the urge to flinch, something she couldn't help but notice, curled up as they were on the couch. “I'm sorry,” he said playfully, though it was forced. “I'm not being a very good pillow tonight.”

Jeanne leaned forward and grabbed the remote, pausing the movie. “That's not it at all,” she insisted as she turned to look at him. “You just seem worried about something.”

Looking into her concerned eyes, Tony once again cursed Jennifer Shepard and the desperation in himself that drove him to accept this op. He didn't, and never would, curse Jeanne. She was an unwitting pawn in this mess. If only they had met outside of work. He really was falling for her. But how could their relationship work when it was built on lies?

“Thinks are just a bit tense at work,” he prevaricated. “Collegiate politics can be brutal. I never meant to bring it home with me.”

He winced inside at that choice of words, even as she positively glowed.

“Well, I guess I'll just have to help you unwind,” she said coquettishly, leaning forward to kiss him, first lightly, then harder and harder until he couldn't help but moan in response.

If he ever missed the prickle of stubble surrounding those lips, well then that was his secret, his MOAS. 

Or was his MOAS this op, the fact that he hadn't fully explained to Gibbs just what was up with his girlfriend?

Tony didn't want to think about that, think about Gibbs, think about the case they couldn't solve and the forty plus people who had died because he couldn't stop their killer. He decided to try to hide from himself by burying himself in Jeanne and led her quickly to the bedroom. He just hoped it worked, or he was never going to tire himself enough to sleep tonight.

~o0o~

Gibbs had been in his basement too long tonight. He'd had too much bourbon, too, but he wasn't about to admit that either. He needed to sleep, but his brain was spinning too fast to let him. Sometimes the boat helped with that, sometimes the bourbon, but tonight both just made him morose and lonely.

He'd been playing Kelly's last tape earlier. He missed her, missed Shannon. The memories of his wives since then were still a jumbled mess in many ways, but he'd never mistaken Shannon for any of them.

No, he'd just mistaken her for Tony, the man he'd driven off with his own stupidity.

To get away from that thought pattern, Gibbs had been thinking about their current case. It had worked previously, but since Greg and Richard became part of the case nothing helped. His anger and frustration at their lack of progress hit an all-time high. He'd get stuck thinking about Richard laying in the hall, two bullets in his chest, or Greg in that hospital bed, so pale, so ill.

Thinking about Richard just got him angrier because why the hell couldn't they find this guy? Thinking about Greg reminded him about their last conversation, and Shannon, and Tony, and now he was right back where he started. He was right back at the one place he couldn't go.

So he had more bourbon, tried not to maim his boat, and continued to fail to sleep.

It was three in the morning, at least, when creaks in the floorboards over his head told Gibbs he had company. He leaned one hip against the tool bench, next to where he kept his basement backup, and sipped from his mug with his eyes on the stairs.

Knowing someone was coming did not mean he was ready for Tony to be the one to step through the basement door. However, rather than admit to his surprise, Gibbs just held up the bourbon bottle in invitation.

Tony shook his head and stumbled down the stairs until he collapsed on a step part way down. Even halfway across the room, Gibbs could smell the mixture of sex and flowers that told him what, or rather who, Tony had been up to earlier in the night. But sex usually didn't make the younger man morose, so why the lost and confused look on his face? And why was Tony here on Gibbs' steps instead of back in bed with his girl?

“She get another emergency call?” Gibbs asked dryly, not quite able to control his voice on this matter.

Tony shook his head, his eyes fixed on the frame of the Kelly's cabin, or perhaps right through it.

“I snuck out.”

The words were so quiet that Gibbs almost missed them. “Wanna talk about why?” Gibbs asked, knocking back the dregs of his glass.”

Tony just shook his head again, his eyes haunted.

“She know what you are?”

Tony jerked harder than Gibbs expected, his eyes snapping to focus on his alpha as he shook his head again.

There was something in those green eyes, but Gibbs couldn't place it, and it wasn't his place to be fixing Tony right now. Except … “When did you last shift?” He spoke in a soft and easy tone, moving slowly towards the edgy shifter.

Tony's brow furrowed as he thought, but no answer was forthcoming.

“Come on, DiNozzo,” Gibbs said once he was close enough to touch. He tucked a hand under the younger man's shoulder and gently guided Tony up. “Time to get some sleep.”

Tony made a noise of protest, but followed Gibbs' guidance without a struggle. He moved with the grace of a sleepwalker as Gibbs guided him out of the basement and upstairs to the master bedroom. A twinge of guilt reminded him that he really should put Tony in the guest room, but he ignored it. His protective instincts were going into overdrive, just like they had this morning when he found Tony had worked all night, and there was no way he'd even be able to relax if they were in separate rooms. The shifter had always had a knack for getting under Gibbs' skin, one way or another.

Another noise of protest came when he started unbuttoning Tony's shirt.

“You need to shift, Tony,” he coaxed. “Relax, I'll watch your six.”

For a moment, Tony's eyes fully focused on Gibbs, and his hand came up to cup the older man's cheek. He had a look in his eyes that Gibbs hadn't seen since the explosion, a look of love that often preceded a kiss. Tony's lips pursed, like he was about to kiss Gibbs, or perhaps say something, but instead he took a half step back, shrugged off his shirt, and shifted. His pants fell to the floor during the transition and Tony easily slipped out of both them and his shoes as he jumped onto Gibbs' bed.

Gibbs toed off his shoes, but left the rest of his clothes on. That way he would have a reminder to behave if he woke up with an armful of naked Tony.

Tony shook himself sharply as Gibbs lay down, then sprawled across the bed with his head on Gibbs' chest. Gibbs brought an arm up and rested it across Tony's back, his fingers digging into the plush, brown fur.

“Sleep,” he ordered softly, and green eyes obediently shut. He listened carefully, however, for the soft lupine exhalations to settle into a sleep pattern. It took several minutes, but it did happen. Only then did Gibbs let his own eyes shut.

He thought there was no way he'd sleep, and he didn't really want to. He wanted to lay here and savor, to file away this memory of being with Tony and know that this memory was of Tony, no doubts, no questions. 

Sleep snuck up on him, however, and dragged him away into dreamless rest.

~o0o~

Tony awoke more relaxed than he'd been in far too long. He knew he'd had mornings like this one, but the memories felt like they belonged to someone else. Part of him wanted to just lay there and enjoy the sensation. There were warm arms and soft breathing and the scent of …

Coffee and sawdust?

As that realization hit, his eyes snapped open and he saw that those warm arms belonged to Gibbs and his nose was pressed against the older man's throat. It took a lot of self-control not to lick a line up that unmarked neck, but he resisted, pulling back.

Turning his head, he got a whiff of sex, and Jeanne's flowery perfume, and wondered just how Gibbs could stand to be so close to him right now. But Tony couldn't deny that Gibbs looked just as at peace as the shifter had felt a moment ago, and from the bags under the older man's eyes, he needed the sleep.

Tony considered his options for a moment, and admitted that going back to sleep was one. The question was, could he face himself afterward, so to speak, and could he control himself. To that the answer was a double no. Coming to Gibbs' house had been a mistake. He wasn't quite sure what had driven him to do it, maybe the sensation of his MOAS gnawing at his insides, but he could and would clean up his own mistake.

It took a moment, but he was able to slip out from under Gibbs' arms and climb off the bed. Shifting and then dressing would have been easier, but he carried each item of clothing into the hall in his teeth, then shifted and changed out of sight.

A shower would have been nice, some coffee or food, but he didn't dare linger. He had a change of clothes in the car and it wouldn't be the first time he'd used the showers at the gym at work. Yes, that was a good course of action. It was still early, maybe he could get some work done before the others got in.

But once he was standing in the doorway, guilt over leaving without saying something hit. Gibbs had helped him despite his incoherent state last night, and slipping away without a word seemed poor recompense. But what to say, what to do?

In the end, he left a note, leaning against the coffee maker where Gibbs was sure to see it when he got up. It was simple and bland, but heartfelt.

_Thank you._

~o0o~

When Gibbs arrived at work that morning, there were two odd elements. First, he was the last to arrive. It was a rare occurrence, but not unknown, so Tim didn't think too much about it. Especially since Gibbs looked like he might have gotten a decent night's sleep for the first time in days, if not weeks. The bags under his eyes had even faded a bit, so Tim just assumed he had slept in and left it at that.

The second strangeness was a fact Tim couldn't make sense of, that Gibbs had two cups of coffee when he got off the elevator. Well, that wasn't so odd. Sometimes, when he was really desperate, he might bring in two, finishing one soon after arriving and starting immediately on the second. The thing was, he usually did that after a bad night's sleep. He also didn't keep the second cup this morning, dropping it off on Tony's desk before sitting down at his own. Tim definitely didn't know what to make of that. Gibbs never bought the team coffee, except on very rare occasions when he wanted something. But Gibbs didn't seem to want anything from Tony, didn't even say a word. And Tony, he didn't even look up, just grabbed the cup and took a sip while continuing to work on whatever he was working on. 

That lack of a sour expression after that sip probably meant the coffee was doctored to something other than Gibbs’ non-exacting standards, which was unheard of. 

Looking over at Ziva, Tim caught her looking just as confused. He'd seen that expression on her face a lot lately, but it was usually in relation to the case and the fact that everyone was hiding a few facts about the Pecks. This was something else entirely. Probably. With this strangeness following the events of yesterday, maybe Tim had missed something. If he didn't know better, if Gibbs were a shifter, he'd almost wonder if Gibbs were courting Tony. That couldn't be it, but something was going on.

“Update,” Gibbs ordered.

Tim pushed his curiosity aside. The case was more important right now, especially with Gibbs glaring at him.

“The sketch artist came back from Potomac Hospital,” Tim said, putting a scan of the drawing up on the plasma screen. The face was long with fairly generic features. Nothing stood out in the nose shape or jawline. Looking at it, Tim felt he'd seen the face before, but it could have been anywhere. “I've faxed copies to all the out-of-town family members. No one recognizes him. Unfortunately, it's a pretty generic sketch.

“Detective Coltrain is still holding onto his notes. I've been contacting those we already interviewed about where they have their photos developed. No overlap so far. We're also checking where the photos were taken. Again, no consistent overlap.”

“Anything interesting in the interview last night?” Gibbs asked, turning to Tony.

Tony shook his head, his eyes still on his computer screen, and his face a mask of frustration. 

“DiNozzo!” Gibbs snapped.

This time Tony looked up. “Sorry, boss.” His mouth seemed to form the words reflexively even as he winced at his choice of words. “Nothing that leads to new thoughts. I emailed my interview notes to you …”

His voice trailed off and his brow furrowed as he turned back to his computer. Tim wondered what he was thinking so hard about, but Gibbs didn't seem to care, turning to Ziva.

“You have anything useful?” Gibbs asked dryly, clearly convinced the answer would be no.

Ziva didn't disappoint, unfortunately. “I have found no connection save the families all had at least one member who was military or former military and many of the photos stolen included the family pet.”

Gibbs' brow furrowed for a moment before he turned to Tim. “Check the database for killers with a thing for animals or MOs that include animals some way,” he ordered.

“On it, boss,” Tim said, happy to have something possibly productive to do. It was new anyway.

But he still wanted to know what was up with Tony and Gibbs this morning.

~o0o~

Tim had been trying to reach Staff Sergeant Atkin's sister for days, and finally succeeded that morning. But the only time she was willing to give him was over lunch. Fortunately, she worked nearby and was willing to swing into Anacostia to meet him rather than the other way around.

When security called to let him know she'd arrived, he let Gibbs know.

“Ziva, I want you to join him,” Gibbs ordered before reserving them a conference room.

Ziva ran a pointed look between Gibbs and Tony, but both of them ignored her, and Tim just shrugged. He wanted to know what was up, but he didn't need to know, so he wasn't going to ask.

Linda Atkins was in her mid-twenties, but looked at least ten years older. Her eyes were red and heavily shadowed, and exhaustion hung upon her like a cloak. Tim welcomed her and hustled her to a chair as fast as he could.

“Thank you for taking some time from you busy schedule to speak to us,” he said as Ziva procured some coffee for the exhausted woman.

“If I want any hope of you finding my brother's killer, I had better, hadn't I,” Linda muttered, her eyes fixed on the mug before her.

“I know it has been a long wait, but we've uncovered some new connections that are shedding a whole new light on your family's case.”

Linda actually expended the energy to raise her head and look at Tim, rolling her eyes. “Forgive me, Agent McGee, but it's been four months of nothing. I'll believe you can solve this case when I see it.”

“Miss Atkins,” Ziva said, “the man who killed your brother and sister-in-law is very clever. It has taken some time, unfortunately, but we have identified his pattern now.”

“How do you know it is a man?” Linda asked. “How do you know it isn't two men? Or a dozen?”

Ziva smiled at Linda, that little smile that often meant she was about to pull her gun. “Because this time he has made a mistake. We have a living witness. When we find him, our witness will identify him and your brother will be avenged.”

Tim jumped in and put the sketch on the table before Linda. “Do you recognize this man?”

Linda glanced at the sketch and shook her head. Then she turned back to Ziva. “And how many more will die before then,” Linda snapped. “You say you've only finally realized the pattern, that he's been killing for some time. Great. How many lives has he shattered? I'm stuck raising my brother's two kids. Two kids! At my age? They're scared. They want their parents. I was waiting until the school year was over to decide, but if Bobby doesn't stop getting into fights he's going to be expelled. I might as well pack them up now and move back in with Mom and Dad. At least back on the farm in Idaho they won't have to … I'll have some help.”

Tim wanted to ponder that stutter, but there wasn't time if he was going to salvage this conversation. “Miss Atkins, if there is anything NCIS or the Corps can do, please let us know. There are support systems available to aid you.”

“Do you know how hard I worked to get away from that farm, Agent McGee?”

Tim couldn't help it, he laughed. “My father sounds just the same when he talks about getting away from his family farm. He joined the Navy to pull it off. I'm sure now that you've done it once you'll succeed again.”

Linda snorted her disbelief, but looked a little more relaxed.

“Miss Atkins, right now we mostly have a few questions about the photo that you said was missing from your brother's house.” Tim glanced at the clock. She had made it clear she had a limited time to meet with him and he didn't want to get her back to work late if he could help it.

“What about it?” she asked.

“What was it of?” Ziva asked.

Linda frowned for a moment. “Bobby and … a dog.”

Tim filed that pause away. “Do you know when it was taken? Where?”

This time Linda just shook her head. “Bobby was about four, but I don't remember where they were that year. The Marines always had George moving around.”

“But it was definitely not recent?” Ziva prompted. She was frowning too, and Tim couldn't blame her. Why those photos?

“No, not at all,” Linda insisted. “Is there anything else you need? I have to get back to work soon.”

~o0o~

Tony getting up wasn't anything new. He'd gotten up to go to the bathroom several times, and to get lunch for everyone after the Atkins interview. This time, however, Tony was swinging his backpack over his shoulder as he stood.

“DiNozzo,” Gibbs snapped.

“Interview with Gunnery Sergeant Duarte's widow.” Tony didn't stop moving towards the elevator even as he answered.

“I want something when we get back,” Gibbs said, shooting a glare at Tim and Ziva before following Tony.

Ziva shot Tim a puzzled look, but Tim ignored it for the moment. Something had just clicked. Instead, he ran across the bull pen and caught Tony's shoulder before the senior agent stepped into the elevator.

“Something's bugging me about the Atkins interview,” he said.

“Can it wait, Probie?” Tony asked. “I'm running late.”

“Maybe … just, she reminded me of my father, talking about wanting to get away from home, from the family farm,” Tim said, letting Tony go. Tony followed Gibbs into the elevator. Just before the doors shut, Tim shoved his arm between them and they bounced back open. “She also reminded me of you.” He said his piece and this time the door closed in front of the puzzled expressions on Tony's and Gibbs' faces. Well, at least he wasn't the only one trying to make sense of it now.

Ziva grabbed his arm as he passed her desk. “What was that?” she demanded.

“A thought,” Tim said, shrugging her hand off.

“And you could not let me hear?”

It was hard, but this time Tim stared her right in the eyes and lied. Somewhat. “I'm sorry. I didn't think every team needed to hear about my incoherent hunch. Next time I'll just yell, shall I?”

When he sat down, she was still glaring. Tim felt an iceberg building in his stomach. She was going to get him, somehow, soon. But he hadn't caved. Yet.

~o0o~

Jayline Duarte was a Marine's wife. She'd lost her husband the month before, in that very house, but the house was tidy, the kids out playing, and she was meticulously put together. The only sign of distress was a hint of red around her eyes.

She even made a Marine cup of coffee, which Gibbs was ready to accept by the time they made it all the way down to Triangle. Tony, on the other hand, had almost immediately asked to use the bathroom. Gibbs might have been worried, but the shifter wasn't looking green so it couldn't have been his driving.

“When you itemized what was missing, you included a photograph in the list,” Gibbs said as Jayline poured a mug of coffee that smelled just black enough. “Could you tell me what it was a photo of?”

Jayline got a pinched look around her lips for a moment, then it vanished. “It was a photo of the kids and an old family pet.”

“Do you have a copy of it that we could look at?” Gibbs smiled at her as he took a sip from the mug she slid across the kitchen island to him.

“I'm afraid not.” Her eyes shown with a hint of moisture, but there was no other sign of her emotional distress. “We lost the negatives from that trip in a move a few years back. We only had the one copy.”

“When was it taken, and where?” 

“George was stationed in Germany at the time.” This time the memory made her smile. “Little Julie was just an infant, laying in his paws.”

Gibbs frowned at her phrasing. “Who's paws?” he asked gently.

Jayline regained her focus quickly and hid her panic well, but Gibbs was a trained interrogator. “We had a dog in Germany, gentle creature. But you know how hard it is to hold onto pets in the military.”

Gibbs had to nod at that. “You caught me,” he said, aiming for a light tone. “Though I can't say it's any easier keeping a pet with my hours now than it was when I was in the Marines.”

“Ah, but is the coffee any better?” Jayline said, laughing a little and finally doctoring her own mug with enough sugar and milk to make DiNozzo happy.

“Depends on your definition of better,” Gibbs said. “I find most civilian options rather bland.”

Jayline laughed again, but this time her eyes were damp. “George always said the same thing.”

“We're going to find the man that killed your husband,” Gibbs promised.

Jayline opened her mouth to reply, but instead just turned away, her eyes blinking rapidly to shove back the moisture gathering. “How can I help?” she finally asked.

Gibbs pulled out the copy of the sketch that Tim had given him that morning. “Do you recognize this man?”

Looking at the sketch carefully, Jaline frowned. “I'm not sure … Maybe, but I don't know why or where.”

Gibbs was formulating his next question when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned his head and spotted Tony finally coming back, but not alone. There was a dog snuggled under his arm. No, a puppy. One with huge paws he had yet to grow into and blue eyes that were half lidded in bliss as Tony scratched his oversized ears.

Raising an eyebrow, Gibbs said, “I hope you're not planning to bring that one home too.”

There was a twinkle in his eyes as Tony shook his head. “I wouldn't do that to you again, boss. No, I just thought you should see William. Mrs. Duarte is doing a beautiful job with him and his siblings.”

Just then, Jayline let out a pained gasp and Gibbs turned back to her. He caught only a glimpse of a look of distress before she managed to school her expression. At the same moment, William whined.

“You shouldn't have ...” Jayline began.

Tony stopped her with a charming smile. “It's quite alright, Mrs. Duarte.” He set William down, and the puppy quickly scampered from the room. “Please don't be angry with William. You're doing a wonderful job supporting your children. I don't think I shifted for over a year after my mother died.”

Silence filled the room as everyone processed that comment. Gibbs remembered those blue eyes, so like Kelly's once upon a time.

“I'm not sure I understand, Special Agent DiNozzo,” Jayline said darkly.

“Yes you do, ma'am,” Tony replied. “Gibbs and I are well aware of what you, your husband, and children are capable of. And just how much you have lost.”

Jayline turned to Gibbs with a hesitant look. He smiled at her reassuringly. “My first wife was like you, as is DiNozzo. And that picture had your husband holding your youngest daughter.”

“Yes,” Jayline said softly. “It was one of my favorites ...”

~o0o~

“How many of those other photos included large dogs?” Gibbs asked once they were back on the road to Washington.

“Most if not all,” Tony replied. “We haven't confirmed them all and I need to double check the ones we have, but when I saw those blue eyes looking up at me from the back yard it all clicked.”

“We can confirm Peck, Duarte …”

“Atkins if Probie's hunch is right.”

“Bizzaro and FitzWilliam, if I read Bizzaro's sister right.”

“Wilkins' picture had a dog in it, if I remember the interview notes.”

“Sure hints at what our killer is looking for,” Gibbs said thoughtfully, dodging a semi and speeding up.

“Except, how is he picking them out?” Tony said. His tone was calm, but Gibbs could see the younger man's knuckles turning white where he was gripping the handle above the door. “We've got people from four towns, and on base. They don't attend the same church, use the same bank, have any similar affiliations ...”

Gibbs flipped open his phone and nudged the speedometer up another five miles an hour as he dialed.


	5. Chapter 5

Ziva was ready to put her fist through her computer monitor. None of the records she was studying showed an overlap. Also, she had found no references to recent killing patterns that included animals in the MO.

It did not help that whenever she looked away from her computer to consider another way to attack the problem, her mind came back to her team's erratic behavior of late. Tim was holding out on her, and Gibbs and Tony had completely shut her out over something … and if she did not know what it was she could not tell if it was important. She had put a great deal of effort into making her place in this country, on this team. She refused to lose it over this case.

Glaring at Tim, hoping he would break and tell her, was only making his shoulders hunch more. He simply refused to look at her since Gibbs and Tony left. But she was trying again when Tim's phone rang.

“McGee.”

She could hear nothing but his voice, but the expression on Tim's face made it clear the information being imparted was important, and distressing. The young man looked almost white, an unpleasant look on his features.

“Right, boss. We'll be ready when you get in … Should I call Ducky?”

Ziva frowned and walked over to his desk. She tried to look at the notes he was jotting down, but they made little sense. _Photos. Abby. Cameras. Financials. Spending patterns._ Still, she knew better than to say anything until after Tim had hung up.

“What ...” was as far as she got before Tim was dialing again.

“Abby? Turn down the music … Yes. We need a secure place to discuss something … Right. Set up the loop … Well, how long does it usually take Gibbs to drive anywhere? And pull up the photos for our case. Right. See you then.”

When the phone went back on the hook, Tim looked up. “Gibbs said he'll explain when he gets in. Until then, he wants us to get access to the financial and credit records of every family attacked and look for any place they all might go in common.”

“We have already looked at their financial records,” Ziva snapped. She was irritated with all this dancing around the hippopotamus in the middle of the room. “They have no overlaps ...”

“Not in banks or churches, but they all might go to a store in common,” Tim snapped back. Ziva was shocked. He had not looked so angry even the last time Tony put superglue on his keyboard. “This bastard is identifying them somewhere.”

“Identifying them?” Ziva asked. She would not back down. She could not.

“Gibbs will say when he gets in,” Tim said, softly, turning back to his computer. Given how he pounded on the keys, his soft tone was not because he had calmed down.

~o0o~

“You're gonna do it.”

“Do what?” Gibbs asked, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“Tell her.” Tony knew he was whining like a sulky kid, but he couldn't seem to help it.

“You see a better option?” Gibbs countered. “You really want to try and keep it from her while we refocus this as a serial killer case?”

Tony growled softly, but he shook his head.

“That reminds me ...” Gibbs said, pulling his phone out again.

~o0o~

Gibbs came striding into the bull pen at full tilt. Ziva stood as soon as she spotted him, but he walked right past her to Tim. Tony followed on the boss' heels, but peeled off to his desk. Ziva glanced between the two men as Gibbs glared at Tim and Tony started picking up files from his desk.

“No, we don't have anything on the financials yet. We never downloaded the victim's detailed credit statements, which is what we need for the search you requested.” The words poured out of Tim as soon as Gibbs got close. “Everything should arrive today or tomorrow morning.” Gibbs grunted at that. No, he growled. Tim quickly continued. “Abby's ready downstairs.”

Apparently those were the magic words, because Gibbs immediately turned on his heel and headed towards the elevator. Ziva watched as Tony followed, arms full of files. Tim quickly grabbed something off his desk and ran after the others, though what the signal was that told him to follow, Ziva couldn't tell.

She stood behind her desk for a moment, trying to decide if she was invited into this little pow wow.

“David!” 

Gibbs' bellow was sign enough, for now. But before Ziva could step away from her desk, Tim looked back and waved a handful of folders at her. This was just great. Secret meetings and goals no one bothered to tell her. For lack of a better idea, she grabbed the folders on her desk that had to do with the financials for this series of murders, and her notes on the last few days’ research

If that was wrong, she might just kill somebody.

By the time she made it to the elevator, the doors were shut and the rest of the team was a full floor down. Growling, Ziva jogged to the nearest stairwell and headed down to Abby's level. She moved fast enough that she arrived only a few seconds after the elevator doors opened.

Angry as she was, it took Ziva a moment to realize how quiet the hallway was. And it was not just that the team was not talking. No, the loud music from Abby's lab was missing. Her lab was completely silent. Worry led Ziva to hurry forward, beating the rest of her team to the forensics lab. 

Where she found Abby happily bouncing away to the music that was not playing, eagerly watching the door.

“Ziva! Is Gibbs here yet? Do you know what he found out?” Abby rattled off full tilt.

Pausing just inside the door, Ziva found herself torn between relief that Abby was all right and confusion about what was going on. Except, the emotion that was winning was anger. She had worked hard to become a good investigator, but none of those skills were doing her any good right now.

“Gibbs. Gibbs. Gibbs,” Abby excitedly chanted as Gibbs led the rest of the team into the forensics lab.

“We secure?” Gibbs asked. Ziva was surprised when Tim closed and locked the door behind him.

“Yep,” Abby chirped. “I set it up the cameras to start glitching ten minutes ago. You took longer than I expected.” She pointed her finger at him and frowned. Gibbs just raised an eyebrow. “We should be black for at least forty minutes still.”

Gibbs nodded and added, “Let me know when Fornell arrives.”

“So, you really think this is a serial killer?” Tim cut in, walking over to Abby's computer. On the screen were several open tabs, but one showed the picture that had been stolen from the Macintosh family. It consisted of a young boy and a very large dog in a fenced-in backyard.

Abby looked at the picture, too, and cooed. “Oh, a serial killer? You didn't tell me that.”

“Souvenirs say serial killer. Shear numbers say mass murderer. You decide, McGoo,” Tony snapped over Tim's shoulder. “And there's nothing to celebrate about this, Abby.” When Ziva looked closely, she noticed there was no trace of a smile on Tony's face or in his eyes. While Ziva had occasionally seen him look serious, it had been some time since she had seen him look so grim. Perhaps not since Gibbs was blown up.

“I know, it's just ...” Tim stuttered.

“Serial killer?” Ziva asked before they could start bantering. Though, really, neither of them looked inclined to do so. “We have not even confirmed that the deaths are by the same person.”

“Close enough,” Gibbs growled. When she turned to look at him, he stared into her eyes, much the way he stared at a suspect in interrogation. “You wanted to know what we were hiding.”

“Yes,” Ziva snapped, her anger for the whole confusing situation bursting out. “You have been cutting me off of this investigation since the Peck house.”

“Cutting you out,” Tony corrected. Gibbs ignored him.

“I will tell you, but you will not tell anyone.” Gibbs' voice was dark and serious. “This information does not get passed on to Jen or your father. Ever.”

Ziva glanced at the rest of the team, but they all looked just a serious as Gibbs. And even Abby seemed to have more of a clue than Ziva did. She did not like making such promises, but she owed Gibbs several times over, and she wanted to know what was going on. Before it drove her insane. “Very well.”

“Gregory Peck is a shifter.” Gibbs said, his tone dry and flat, but Ziva could not miss the pain in his eyes. He rarely looked like that unless he was dealing with children. “And if the rest of the victims aren't, the killer sure thought they were.”

“A shifter?” Ziva frowned. She'd never heard of such a thing. “Is this a joke?” Except no one was laughing.

“Tony, show her,” Gibbs ordered, turning to look at the juvenile man.

“Boss, really?” Tony protested. His eyes met Gibbs' in one of those looks Ziva had been trying to sort out for years. For a moment the air thickened with tension.

Then Tony tilted his head an the tension broke. “We need this settled now,” Gibbs replied, turning away and focusing on the photos that Tim was paging through on the monitor.

Tony's fingers went to his shirt, unbuttoning it until he could remove it. Finally, he handed it to an appreciatively leering Abby. 

“Stop,” Ziva said. “I have seen enough of you on previous occasions.”

“I haven't,” Abby purred,

“This isn't magic, Zeeeva,” Tony drawled. “Clothes don't come with.”

“Clothes don't come with what?” Ziva snapped as Tony unbuttoned his pants. Before she could get more than a glimpse to confirm that, once again, Tony wasn't wearing underwear, he changed. There was no other way to describe it. Shock left her unable to clearly recall the next few moments, something her Mossad trainers would have been very displeased with. But surely they could not have expected this or they would have trained her to expect humans turning into … well, dogs. Or perhaps something closer to a wolf. She was not trained in identifying all canines. Tony quickly hunched up. His legs changed even as his pants fell to the floor so all she saw was quickly sprouting fur. A moment later he wasn't Tony anymore. No, he was a dog.

Actually, he was a rather familiar dog. “Tony,” she said softly, her brow furrowing. “I have seen this before, last year ...” She turned to Gibbs, who simply nodded. “He growled at Director Sheppard.”

Abby laughed and leaned over to hug the large dog that apparently was Ziva's partner. “Tony, really? You didn't tell me about that.” The dog's tongue, Tony's tongue lolled from a wide open mouth and Ziva could see the laughter in his eyes. His still green eyes.

Struggling for words, Ziva finally settled on, “This should be impossible.”

“And yet it isn't,” Tim said.

“Ask your questions on your own time. Right now we have a serial killer to find,” Gibbs barked. “The killer is looking for and somehow identifying shifters. Figure out how. And anyone who has contacts in the shifter community, call them ASAP. Those around Quantico need to be watching their backs until we catch this bastard.”

“I can call Ted and Ben, Gibbs,” Abby said. She was still clinging to Tony, busily scratching behind his ears. “But I'm not sure they have the right connections.”

“Ben's former military,” Gibbs said. “He might have some ideas. DiNozzo, change back. Get fondled on your own time.”

Tony shot Gibbs a look that Ziva had no idea how to describe. It was more than the little longing glances she had sometimes seen from the Italian man, not quite the look exchange she was unable to explain, and potentially had a great deal of laughter in it. His furry head bumped Abby, right in the chest, which as a human would earn him far more than a slap to the head. However, now it simply made Abby squeal in a delighted manner and hug him tighter.

“DiNozzo.” Gibbs voice dropped to a deep growl that Ziva had not quite heard before. It seemed rather wolfish in fact. However, it seemed Tony was familiar with it, as he quickly pulled away from Abby and grabbed his pants in his teeth.

“So shifters are werewolves?” Ziva finally asked. “Though it seems the moon is not a limiting factor.”

“The moon has nothing to do with it,” Tim said, following Tony with the older man's shoes as in dog shape Tony headed towards Abby's office.

Ziva was not sure if she was grateful that Tony would not be flashing them on his return to humanity, or upset that he was not behaving in his usual, impossible, confrontational manner.

“Shifters may be the origin for many of the werewolf myths,” Abby said, handing Tim Tony's shirt as he passed. “However, the myths are little guidance. They can't identify each other easily, have no problem with silver, can be hurt by other metals, I mean, other than the shape shifting thing and slightly sharper senses than most, it's a pretty bum super power.”

“Questions on your own time,” Gibbs finally cut in.

“Tim's great for answering questions,” Abby chirped. She was turning and bouncing, looking back at the window into her office. Ziva glanced over and realized Tony must be hiding as he changed back.

“And you, Gibbs?” Ziva asked, turning her attention firmly to her guiding light in the US.

He just shook his head.

Abby cut in. “Nope, Tony's the only one of us who can shift. But you have to admit that Gibbs has the growl down pat. I mean, I totally mistook him for one when I first learned ...”

“Abs,” Gibbs said.

An alarm went off on Abby's computer just then. The Goth girl looked over at the screen before saying, “Fornell's here.”

~o0o~

Gibbs led Fornell into Abby's office, shooing Tony out as he finished tying his last shoelace. “Get the worst of her questions out of her system, and make those calls.”

“Yes, boss,” Tony replied snappily. But his eyes warned Gibbs there would be repercussions. Whether for making him change at the office or for leaving him to field Ziva's curiosity, Gibbs wasn't quite sure. It didn't matter for now.

“We've got a problem,” he said once the glass door slid shut behind Tony.

Fornell raised an eyebrow. “You don't exactly tend to call me up when there isn't a problem in the offing.”

“There's a serial killer out there targeting shifters who are military or former military.”

That apparently got Fornell's attention as his eyes actually widened. “Please tell me this is a joke.” 

Gibbs shook his head. “I only wish. We've got over 40 confirmed victims, from single deaths to whole families per attack over the last year or so.” A visible shudder ran down Fornell's spine, and Gibbs couldn't blame his FBI counterpart the feeling. This whole case had his gut in knots.

“I know the community isn't that good at communication, but how did something like this fail to attract anyone's attention?” Fornell asked.

“Jackass of a cop in Dumfries's been trying to hide the whole thing,” Gibbs spat. Coltrain's attitude left a bad taste in his mouth. “Seems he wanted all the glory. The killer isn't flashy, so the media didn't pick up on it. Cycles his guns so we didn't make the bullet comparison until now.”

“What do you need from me?” Fornell asked. He was earnest, even a little scared. He knew just how dangerous something like this could be.

“Well, now that we know it's a serial, while he hasn't crossed state borders, it's usually good to contact the FBI.”

Fornell snorted. “Like you usually pay any attention to such niceties.”

Gibbs had to nod at that. “Yes, well, this time it's better to have the i's dotted and t's crossed. Wrong FBI agent finally figured it out and came to me, we could really have problems.

“Right, well, now that I know, you're letting me in on this one.”

“Of course,” Gibbs said. He had just the job for Fornell. “You are going to bring the full fury of the FBI down on one Detective Coltrain of the Dumfries PD.”

“And what did this man do to deserve that?”

“Withheld everything but the most basic aspects of the cases in his city. Three that we know of,” Gibbs said. “There may be more we haven't identified yet.” Gibbs planned to say more, but his phone rang.

~o0o~

Gibbs bellowing, “What!” drew the attention of the whole team. The word seemed loud enough to shatter the glass between them and Gibbs, but when Tony looked up, the door and window were fine. A moment later, Gibbs came stomping out of Abby's office in a towering fury. Tony repressed the urge to comment that Gibbs was beautiful when he was angry. It was neither the time nor the place, but in any case it was probably the sign of a disturbed mind that his alpha looking that furious made Tony horny.

“Gas the truck. Abby, call Ducky. We've got another possible victim at Quantico,” Gibbs barked out.

Abby gasped and protested, “It's too soon. His pattern has been biweekly, but it's only been a few days since he went after the Pecks.”

“And Greg was the first survivor,” Tony said, laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “That might have triggered an acceleration.”

“We'll figure out why later,” Gibbs said. “Right now we focus on catching this bastard before he can do this again. And make those calls to your contacts on the way. I want the warning out to the shifters before morning. No more stalking the unaware.” He glared at every member of his team, and Fornell, before stomping to the door. Just before he got there, he paused and turned back. “Abs, work with Fornell's people. Serial killers don't pop up with a fully formed MO. Somewhere out there are the preliminary cases we haven't identified yet. And focus on anything Coltrain has worked on.” He fixed an eye on Fornell. “I want every scrap of information that man has. He'd identified the souvenir. He may know more about this bastard's pattern.”

Tony saw Fornell nod, his expression as angry and grim as Gibbs'. He had a feeling his expression didn't look much better, no matter how nice it had been to feel Abby's fingers in his fur a few minutes ago.

As Gibbs stalked out, Tony turned to Abby. He didn't have to say anything. She knew what he wanted and just nodded. So he turned to Tim.

“I'll get the truck,” the not-so-probie quickly promised. “Go with Gibbs and make sure he gets some coffee before reaching the scene.”

Tony shared a grin with Tim before he left the younger man to deal with Ziva and her six million remaining questions about shifters. Tim was more qualified to answer most of them anyway.


	6. Chapter 6

Gibbs pulled up in the shopping center just outside the Quantico main entrance. It had started to snow on the way down, and added to the rush hour traffic they'd hit, it had taken far too long to get from DC to Quantico. He needed coffee before he could face another couple of dead bodies.

Tony followed him into the Starbucks, but Gibbs ignored his senior agent. The shifter had caught up with him at his car, ready to go, and Gibbs had been ignoring him since. Tony was a good man, and good company, but right now Gibbs just needed to seethe in silence. Some bastard had been killing his pack, not just Sailors and Marines, but shifters under his protection. For a year! Even passing the information on to his contacts at the Pentagon had done nothing to soothe his feeling of guilt.

“Coffee,” he snapped at the man behind the counter. Fortunately, he'd arrived in a lull and there wasn't a line.

“What kind and size?” the man asked.

The man looked familiar. Gibbs had been in this store enough of late the staff should understand his order. Gibbs was preparing a retort, or perhaps more of a rant, when Tony stepped up beside him. 

“Just give him your largest, darkest roast. And make it two.” 

Gibbs turned his glare on Tony. 

“You mean the first one would last past the gates?” But even while teasing, Tony tilted his head slightly to bare his throat, and Gibbs turned back and nodded at the idiot behind the register.

“And I'll take a grande hazelnut mocha and these,” Tony added, dropping a stack of sandwiches on the counter between the registers. Gibbs was startled, but hid it. A glance proved Tony had cleaned out the sandwiches and food plates in the cold storage under the pastry refrigerator.

“I'm not paying for all that,” Gibbs snapped.

Tony gave him a sharp look. “Then I'll pay for it. It's dinner time, and we're gonna be busy all night. The team needs something other than coffee to run on, even you.”

Gibbs didn't back down, but when the man behind the register quoted a total, Gibbs handed over his credit card, prompting Tony to give him a huge grin.

~o0o~

The MPs had been very careful to maintain the scene, and not having to deal with Coltrain when they arrived clearly helped Gibbs' mood. Well, maybe not clear to just anyone, but Tony could see it.

But everything sank to new lows once they saw the victims. They were lying in the front hall, clearly having just made it past the door before ... The bastard must have been waiting for them when they got home. A tall black woman, probably Mrs. Anderson, had fallen to three wild shots to the torso and looked to have taken a final shot to the head only after she'd been on the ground. The blood pooled around her showed signs of being smeared as she struggled, still alive until the final shot.

That might have made Tony question whether this was the same guy, but the other victim left him pretty sure there had been no intentional change in MO. Lying a few feet further inside, at the doorway of the living room, was a large black dog, or perhaps a wolf, wearing the jacket and harness of a guide dog. Tony wasn't sure how many shots the dog had taken, its dark fur made it hard to tell, but the blood spatter indicated it had been a fight to bring him down. 

“Corporal Anderson?” Tony asked softly once it was just him and Gibbs in the hall.

Gibbs didn't respond directly, just snapped “Damn it,” and turned away. “I'm going to find out who called it in. Sketch and shoot until Ducky gets here.” He stalked out of the house.

Tony couldn't blame him. His heart clenched hard at the scene and his eyes were watering. If that was Corporal Anderson, they'd never be able to explain what happened to him. The Corps would never be able to provide benefits for his beneficiaries.

Heart aching, Tony got to work.

~o0o~

Gibbs ended up two doors down the block at the home of one Mrs. Grant. The first MPs on the scene said she'd been the one to call in the crime. They also said she had the Anderson's two children. That really made Gibbs furious. But at least this time the kids had survived. Other families hadn't been so lucky. Hell, he'd gotten the previous generation too with the Petrovitch family, since Commander Petrovitch's father lived in the family home.

“Mrs. Grant,” Gibbs said politely as the door was opened by middle aged brunette woman of Hispanic descent. “Special Agent Gibbs, ma'am, NCIS. The MPs say you called in a disturbance down at the Anderson residence.”

She nodded and waved him in to a small living space. “Call me Gina, please. I keep looking for my mother-in-law when I hear Mrs. Grant.”

“Can you tell me why you called the MPs?” The house was a bit ragged, but well loved. There were signs that a number of children usually had the run of this space. Gina clearly did her best to keep up, but the kids were inclined to leave toys everywhere.

“Tanya, Mrs. Anderson, had a doctor's appointment this afternoon. So they asked me to pick the boys up from school with my three. I pulled up to drop them off when I heard a horrible racket from inside the house.” Gina frowned, crossing her arms and hugging herself tight. 

“Gunshots?” Gibbs asked, trying to keep his voice gentle.

“No.” She shook her head. “Crashing and banging. Like someone was tearing the place apart. Was it … were Tanya and Bill home?”

Gibbs groaned internally, but hid it as best he could. He hadn't been informed that no one kept Mrs. Grant in the loop. “I'm afraid that we found two victims, dead. Preliminary identification are Mrs. Anderson and her guide dog.”

Gina cursed, softly but violently. “That family has been through so much. Tanya was in a car accident end of last year, lost her sight. Bill's been desperate to get her a guide dog before he shipped out next month. To have succeeded and this …. But where could Bill be? He should have gone with her to that appointment.”

“I don't know, ma'am. But we will find out,” Gibbs swore. Maybe they could make it seem like the killer had kidnapped Bill and killed him somewhere else. It was a break in MO, but if they could sell it his children would get his benefits. “I'd like to talk to the children. They're still with you?”

“And will be staying,” Gina said firmly. “After the accident, Bill and Tanya made Tom and I their guardians, just in case. But yes, they're here. All the kids are in the play room working on their homework.” 

~o0o~

Gibbs must have made better time than it seemed, because it was another twenty minutes before Ziva and Tim pulled up. And Ziva was driving.

Tony heard the truck pull up in a squeal of brakes and stepped out the door to bark orders. “McGee, David, check the exterior before we lose anything more in this snow.” He didn't wait to see how they'd respond, just went back to work on the interior. And wondered what he was going to say to Ducky about their victims.

~o0o~

Five children were working diligently at a table in the play room, two girls and three boys. “Mandy and Heidi lost their father to a bomb a few years back,” Gina said softly from the doorway. The two girls had a decidedly Asian cast to their features. “Their mother ... well, she faded away. Tom and I got custody before the end. Danny's ours by blood, but we don't differentiate.” She pinned him with a sharp look. “So you be gentle with my boys.”

“I never doubted,” Gibbs said, meaning every word. Gina was a she-wolf defending her cubs, and Gibbs had no desire to upset her. The Anderson boys would have reason enough to be upset. He was comforted their parents had made arrangements with such a strong family.

Gina stepped into room and spoke up. “Billy, Greg, this is Special Agent Gibbs from NCIS. He needs to talk to you.”

Billy and Greg looked about eight and six, respectively, and had their mother's chocolatey skin. Gibbs' heart went out to them. He led them back to the small living room and settled them on the couch while Gina stayed to update her three.

“Can I see your badge?” Billy asked, polite but determined.

Gibbs knelt before the couch where he could be close to watch and comfort, and flipped open his badge before the boy. 

Billy leaned forward to study the badge carefully, his eyes scanning between the picture and Gibbs' face. “Leroy Jethro Gibbs,” the boy read.

“You can call me Jethro,” Gibbs offered.

Billy glanced at Greg, then settled back into the couch. “How did they die?”

Startled by the bluntness, Gibbs raised an eyebrow but fumbled on developing a response.

“No ambalance,” Greg whispered. He leaned into his brother's side, and Billy wrapped an arm around his small form.

“MPs came, but no one called an ambulance,” Billy said. “And Mom called to say they were on their way back before we left the school. So...”

Gibbs nodded. “Smart boys. I bet your parents are quite proud of you.”

“Don't you mean were?” Billy said, anger tinging his words even as tears lingered in his eyes.

“No,” Gibbs said, shaking his head . He placed a hand covering their side-by-side knees and gave a comforting squeeze. “Your parents were proud of you, are proud of you, and will be proud of you. I have every faith they'll be watching over you for years to come.”

~o0o~

Checking the backyard was a waste of time. Ziva grumbled her way through the process, but the snow had covered everything. Sweeping the snow from the back door knob would smudge any fingerprints that were there, not that it was likely that there were any if this was the same guy.

She left Tim to trying and trudged back to the front of the house. Inside, she found Tony sketching and measuring the scene. Despite Tim's quick and consistent answers to her questions the whole way down, she had still wondered if this whole shifter thing was a one-off, a joke, or just a sign that losing Ari was actually driving her insane. When she saw the black wolf in the guide dog jacket lying in a pool of blood by the living room doorway, she shoved all doubts aside.

“Is that Corporal Anderson?” she asked softly.

Tony looked up from where he had been sketching the scene and recording measurements. “Probably,” he replied. “A DNA test will tell us for sure.”

“What can we tell the Marines?” Ziva wondered, then realized she had said the words aloud. But it was a reasonable question. If shifters were as secretive as she had been told, and her team was quite emphatic on that point, then they couldn't just tell his CO that he'd been shot while acting as his wife's guide dog.

“Not sure yet. But we'll figure something out. Gibbs' contacts in the Pentagon may have a system set up for cases like this.”

That seemed reasonable. And yet... “And if not? If we can only identify him as missing he will be UA, might be blamed for his wife's death, and his children will get no benefits.”

Tony glared at her. “Then Gibbs will come up with something.” He huffed and shook his head. “Look, this is going to be complicated, but we'll work it out. Now, I'm almost done with all we can do before Ducky gets here. There are sandwiches in the backseat of Gibbs' car. Go grab something to eat, get McGee to do the same. And when Ducky does get here, distract Palmer. I need a minute alone with Ducky.”

Ziva looked at his strained face, then glanced at the large furry figure of Corporal Anderson sprawled on the floor. She nodded and walked back outside.

~o0o~

“I have to ask a few questions. Some of them are going to sound odd, but we need to find out how this man picked your family if we're going to catch him.” Gibbs looked the two boys firmly in the eyes. “And we will catch him.”

“Ask,” Billy said firmly. He was visibly wrapping his father's authority around him.

“How long has your father been acting as your mother's guide dog?”

Greg frowned, tears rolling down his cheeks, but Billy kept his expression calm. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Gibbs smiled. “Yes, you do. I know your parents told you not to talk about it, but my wife and daughter are like your father.” He swallowed down a deep burst of pain at using Shannon and Kelly as leverage like the were still alive. “It's okay to talk with me.” 

Now Billy frowned, but Greg spoke up. “Couple'a weeks. Mommy couldn't get around alone since the acciden'.” He shot an uneasy look at his older brother, but stood, or rather sat, firm in the face of Billy's glare.

“Thank you, Greg.” Gibbs nodded formally at the boy. “The man who killed your parents seems to be targeting people like your father and my wife. So I need to know where they might have gone together. It could be the man saw them and followed them home.”

“No one followed us,” Billy said. “Dad taught us to watch out when we're out with Mommy.”

“But what about when Mommy's alone?”

“Dad watched out for her.”

“Then he found your home another way. That is good to know. So where have your parents gone lately?”

“Dad's been teaching Mommy to find her way around. Says she needs more exercise,” Billy said.

Greg chimed in, “Mommy says Starbucks makes her fat, so it's a bad reward.” He giggled.

Gibbs glanced at the giggling boy, then at his older brother.

“Dad led her to the Starbucks outside the base gates,” Billy said. “She loves mocha frappachinos. When we went with them last weekend, she said it was a bad reward since it ... packed on more calories than the walk burned.” As he said that last phrase, Billy's attention turned inward, dredging up the unfamiliar concepts.

“So your mother and father have been out to the shopping center outside the gates a few times lately?” Gibbs asked, and both boys nodded. Gibbs smiled. “Thank you. That is very useful. Have they been anywhere else?”

“The doctor's office.” Billy frowned thoughtfully, then shrugged. “Dad had work. They haven't had a lot of time—” The words choked off as a sense of just how little time his parents had had visibly hit the boy.

~o0o~

Ziva ate quickly, wanting to get to work but appreciating the calories. Before she finished, the ME's van pulled up to the curb and Ducky and Jimmy climbed out.

“Ducky, Tony wants to talk to you,” Ziva called over to them. “Jimmy, did you eat dinner?” She held out another boxed sandwich from the bag she'd set on Gibbs' trunk.

The younger man shook his head, but glanced at Ducky for approval before coming over. 

“Save me something, please,” Ducky said as he headed towards the house. “I don't think I'll want to eat until after ...”

“How bad?” Jimmy asked her in a soft tone once he stood at Ziva's side.

How to judge the question? Ziva had certainly seen worse. The bodies were whole, not torn to shreds by a suicide bomber. There were only two, not tens or hundreds. And yet, the pathos of the bloody scene still tugged at a heart she'd once thought well frozen. “We've seen worse,” she finally said. “But not on this case.”

~o0o~

Tony wasn't sure if he was glad to have the first crack at Ducky or pissed Gibbs wasn't back yet.

Ducky hissed through his teeth as he stood in the doorway, studying the scene before him. “I'm so sorry, my dear. What a terrible waste.”

“Ducky ...” Tony tried to begin but any possibility of words froze in his throat. How could he possibly explain?

How could he not?

“I thought Gibbs was refusing to take on any new cases until he'd made some progress on that mass murderer case,” Ducky said, studying the scene carefully.

“He is,” Tony said.

“This doesn't look like our bastard's signature. Am I going to upset your recording of blood spatter if I get closer?”

Tony shook his head. “I finished recording this room while I was waiting.” He gestured at the corporal's remains. “He wasn't expecting resistance. But we need to talk about that before ...”

“Guide dog?” Ducky asked as he knelt at Mrs. Anderson's side and pulled out his liver probe.

Tony shook his head. “Corporal Anderson. We think. Look, this is kind of hard to explain, but there are people in the world who have the ability to turn into wolves—“

“Shifters, werewolves, they have many names,” Ducky said with a matter-of-factness that startled Tony.

“You know about shifters?” Tony couldn't help the urge to drop his jaw to the floor. A lifetime of complete silence and suddenly he was surrounded by people who knew before he said a thing. 

Ducky nodded. “The best MEs know, so we can help tweak the case when things go wrong, as they have here. Explaining what happened to the Corporal will be difficult.”

“Gibbs will come up with something,” Tony said. God, he hoped Gibbs would.

“So you're not the only one who understands?” Ducky said, sliding the liver probe from Mrs. Anderson's abdomen. “Hmm, compensate for the drop in temperature over the last few hours,” he muttered before adding more clearly, “Of course, silly me. I've suspected about Gibbs for some time.”

“Not Gibbs,” Tony said. “And the whole team knows now. This bastard has been targeting shifters specifically the whole time. At least, we're pretty sure. If you know anyone with contacts in the local military community, we're trying to send out warnings...?”

Ducky sat back on his haunches and looked closely at Tony. “Oh dear. That does make things complicated. I suppose I should make sure Abby runs a DNA test on our victim here, to confirm the ID ... Does she know?”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “And please tell her to make it a top priority.”

~o0o~

The boys were wrecked. Gibbs wasn't going to get anything more from them now, not that he was sure what to make of what he did have. The ring of a phone in the background was the only distraction as he tried to comfort two sobbing children when there was no comfort to offer.

Gibbs spotted Gina's arrival from the corner of his eye with a feeling of relief. He had a case to solve. She could tend to the boys. Except, when he turned to her, there was a hard look on her face.

“I just received a call from Tom. Seems there's a killer in the area with an odd choice in targets. Are you the agent working those cases?”

Gibbs nodded. It was good to know his message was trickling down the ranks.

“Then that guide dog you mentioned ...?” Her voice caught in her throat.

“We'll do DNA to confirm, but I'm afraid so,” Gibbs said softly. “But I think you knew that before.”

Gina nodded. She finally walked across the room, sitting on the couch next to Greg and encouraging the boys to curl up against her. “Find the monster who did this.”

With the boys in good hands, Gibbs stood. “I will, ma'am,” he promised. “You may hear that Corporal Anderson is missing. I'll do my best to push a presumed dead through as soon as possible. If you have any problems with custody, you let me know.” He set his card down on the coffee table before he departed.

~o0o~

Tim was finishing his sandwich when Gibbs came striding down the street. 

“Has anyone found Corporal Anderson yet?” the boss bellowed at the MPs guarding the area. That took Tim by surprise. Corporal Anderson was probably inside lying near his wife. Except, ah, how would they explain his form?

“No one has been able to locate him, sir,” one of the MPs said. But there was something in how he replied that made Tim wonder if he knew exactly where the corporal was. 

“Then you'd better get a search started,” Gibbs snapped. Turning to his team he continued. “McGee? David?”

Tim saw Ziva looking confused. “Nothing, boss,” Tim said confidently. “I've set up a time to interview Corporal Anderson's superior tomorrow morning. Ducky's checking out the bodies. The snow hid anything useful in the yard.”

Gibbs shot Tim a nod before striding into the house.

“What was that about?” Ziva hissed once Gibbs was out of view.

Tim glanced at Jimmy, finishing his platter of fruit and cheese. Then he gave Ziva a pointed look. “We have two bodies, Mrs. Tanya Anderson and her guide dog. Of course we're trying to find her husband.”

“When did you call to make appointments?”

“When you abandoned me in the back yard,” Tim snapped back. He was tired of bearing the brunt of Ziva's confusion and anger over this case. “Now, I'm going to start on the rest of the house before Gibbs comes after us.”

Tim didn't make it half way to the door before Gibbs bellowed from inside. “McGee, take these samples back to Abby and start the APBs for Corporal Anderson. I want you to get any video you need from the base before you go.”

Tim jogged the rest of the way to the house and claimed the samples Tony was holding out without crossing inside. He signed for receipt quickly.

“Take the car,” Gibbs ordered, his eyes focused on the grim scene filling the front hall. “I want to know as soon as we can confirm that Corporal Anderson was present when this happened.”

“Yes, boss,” Tim said, turning immediately and jogging back to the car. If Gibbs had more orders, he'd call. Getting the paperwork started to cover for Corporal Anderson's “disappearance” was priority one.


	7. Chapter 7

It was well into the morning before the van pulled up to the bay at NCIS headquarters. For once, Ziva abandoned Tony to do the evidence check in, heading straight for the elevator. She had a personal mission to attend to.

Ducky looked up with his habitual smile, only a little strained around the edges, when she came through the door to autopsy.

“Ziva, what can I do for you this fine ... morning?” he said, glancing at the clock as he spoke.

“How are the autopsies progressing?” she asked first. Ducky was still in scrubs, standing at the autopsy table topped by an unfamiliar figure. The table closest to the door held Mrs. Anderson, her husband on the table between the two human figures. His current form looked rather incongruous between the other bodies, but of equal bulk. Ziva had watched as Jimmy and Ducky struggled to get the large dog/wolf into a body bag, Corporal Anderson's weight apparently similar or identical to that of a full grown man, but the distribution different enough to throw off the two experienced MEs.

“I finished most everything with the Andersons before Bollman got a call.” Ducky gestured at the man he was working on. Large muscles, plethora of tattoos on the upper arms, buzz cut, and his chest cracked. “Looks to be alcohol poisoning, but such things must be confirmed.”

Ziva nodded. “When do you think ...”

“Abigail has the bullets, which were definitely the cause of death.” Ducky looked over at the Andersons, a sad glint in his eyes. “Four for Mrs. Anderson, the one to the head being the fatal shot. I cannot confirm until Abby does the trajectories, but I believe the first three bullets were ones fired at her husband that missed. He took three to the chest and was winged four times on the legs and torso. One of the bullets in his chest clipped an aorta. He bled out during the fight. Knowing all that, it is simply a matter of a few other details to confirm nothing else was wrong with them. If Private St. John behaves, I expect to have all three ready for report writing by mid-morning.”

The facts were no different than many she had heard before, and much less horrific than the deaths that had filled her life from an early age. And yet, somehow every fact this time made her heart clench uncomfortably. “The Andersons are Jewish.”

Ducky, who had turned back to his open chest, jerked his head up and looked at a Ziva with an expression of surprise. “Oh dear, I forgot to check. How did that come up?”

“Sergeant Tom Grant came over to help us identify missing items. The only pieces taken were from the dining room table, two silver Shabbat candles, a matching Kiddush cup, and a silver spice box. Corporal Anderson purchased them on a weekend leave in Israel while serving in Iraq.” Ziva already planned to call her aunt as soon as she got to her desk. The Anderson boys deserved something special to replace the items stolen. At least they'd have the tallit their father purchased for them once the scene was released.

Ziva didn't notice Ducky had moved until he arrived at her side offering a tissue. That was also when she realized her eyes were damp. 

“I'll see they aren't left alone until the funeral home comes,” Ducky assured her. “Do you know who I should call to get things moving?”

The card Sergeant Grant had given her was easily handed over. “The Andersons had carefully made their plans and made sure the Grants knew the details. But with the complications ... I would like to perform tahorah when you are finished ...”

Ducky nodded quickly. “Of course. I doubt there are many chevrah kadisha who would agree to perform tahorah on what appears to be a dog. I'll call up as soon as they are ready for the ritual washing.” He patted her gently on the shoulder. 

“Thank you, Ducky,” Ziva said, knowing her gratitude showed in every motion. This would not be the first time she had performed the ritual preparation of a body according to ancient tradition. If her schedule was more regular, she would volunteer to do so more often with the local chevrah kadisha, the holy society of volunteers who assisted the mourning with the rituals in most Jewish communities. As it was, she had not performed tahorah since she left Israel, but she could never forget the proper ritual and prayers. It was a small service, but one she could perform to help the Andersons rest in peace despite the difficult circumstances of their murders.

“Go on, before Gibbs comes looking for you.” Ducky smiled and nudged her towards the door. “I'll have everything ready for you later.”

Ziva glanced over her shoulder as she left, still struggling to process that the large dog on the table was really a man, a husband, a father, a Marine. He was a good man who deserved a proper burial. She could not assure him that, but she could ensure he was prepared properly, and convince herself that she did believe the insanity of the last twenty-four hours.

~o0o~

Gibbs shouldn't have abandoned Tony to check in the evidence, but he could not deal with the chirping of the girls that ran the evidence locker right now. He went straight for Abby's lab, not that she wasn't equally chirpy. But she had information that could be useful.

“Abs,” Gibbs barked as soon as he burst through the door, slapping off the boom box on the third step. “What have you found?”

Abby turned around with a smile, but deep circles under her eyes. “Gibbs, you're back.” She ran up to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his shoulder. “Tim said ...” she murmured into his shoulder. “I saw ... with Ducky ... Oh, Gibbs.”

He wrapped his arms around her, cupping one hand around the back of her head. “I need to know what you found,” he growled softly, unable to calm his emotions to sound nicer.

She nodded into his shoulder before pulling back. “The FBI is still working on Coltrain. And their analysts are working on the MO.” She wiped a few tears from her eyes and smirked. “I'll correct their data after I finish with the Andersons.” Turning back to her computer, she brought up Tony's photos from the previous evening. “Tim brought me blood samples and crime scene photos. I need a few more hours to finish the analysis of the scene, but I do know I found three blood types.” Grinning over her shoulder, she held up three fingers. 

“Our killer is wounded,” Gibbs said with a grim smile.

“Yep,” Abby said, her pony tails bouncing with her rapid nods. “The other two blood types match Corporal and Mrs. Anderson. I'll have DNA tomorrow to confirm that.”

“Thank you, Abby.” Gibbs walked over and pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

“But wait,” Abby said, grabbing the collar of his jacket before he could turn away, “there's more. Ducky sent up the bullets about ...” She glanced at the clock. “Two hours ago. I ran the ballistics right away. They match the bullets used to kill First Lieutenant Anna Sanders and her daughter last August.”

Well, that was what they needed to know. It was definitely the same bastard. “Let me know when you finish the blood spatter analysis.”

“You got it, Gibbs.”

~o0o~

Tony couldn't believe they'd left him all the evidence for check in. Stupid team, worthless pack, abandoning him to the baggy bunnies. Check in took forever. They made him do all the paperwork twice just to mess with him. He was certain. No way he'd forgotten that many forms on the first pass.

No rest for the weary, though. Once checked in, he had to take the evidence to Abby, who was way too busy to talk, then he had to face a seething Gibbs. After seeing the Anderson boys heading to school as the evidence van finally pulled away from the curb this morning, Tony felt much the same. Which did not help his focus.

“Make your pawn shop calls, then see what sense you can make of those financials,” Gibbs ordered as soon as Tony reached his desk, the older man gesturing at Tim rather than any specific folder.

Nodding, Tony walked over to Tim, dragging his tired feet with each step. Jeanne had called twice last night, and coming up with excuses why he couldn't leave the scene had not been easy, especially with Ziva stalking him to hear every word. He was wondering more and more why he was going on with this, Jen's orders or not. Yeah, he liked Jeanne, but ...

Yeah, but.

“What's new, McGoo?” Tony said, leaning over the younger man's shoulder and trying not to sound as tired and pissed off as he felt. He'd grab the files he needed first. The calls wouldn't take long and once he sat down, he did not want to have to get up again for at least an hour.

“I've been going over the videos from Quantico all night, but detailed financial records arrived this morning from most of our victims. We need to find out—“

“I was on the other end of the phone when Gibbs gave that order,” Tony interrupted. Their killer was spotting his victims somehow, someplace they went more than once, someplace he could somehow get their home addresses from. Hopefully, it was somewhere their victims spent money. “Where's the stack?”

“Start with businesses in that shopping center outside the Quantico main gates,” Gibbs ordered. Tony looked over in question. Gibbs glared back. “Mrs. Anderson liked Frappishinis.”

Grinning at his boss' eternal inability to keep up with anything popular that didn't impact him directly, Tony grabbed the files and headed back to his desk. He'd start with references to purchases at Starbucks.

~o0o~

Tim was frustrated. Not quite frustrated enough to put his hand through his monitor, but certainly ready to scream. While the rest of the team had gone over the house and recorded the crime scene, while Abby had run the blood from the scene (three distinct blood types. Their killer had been wounded. Good.), Tim had gone over and over and over the video for the day from the entrances and exits to the base. He had also reviewed the video from several cameras inside the base, outside the base, and everything else he could think of. Nothing suspicious.

Then again, nothing had looked suspicious to Bollman's team when the MacIntosh family had been killed one afternoon last May. Or to Cassidy's team when the Atkins family had been killed while their kids spent the night with a friend in November. Or to him when the FitzWilliam family had been destroyed just before Christmas.

“Shit,” he spat. Harsher words were deserved, but he wasn't much inclined to such things most days. Today was building up to an exception.

The sound of Tony's phone settling in its cradle, without the sound of Tony's voice, drew Tim's attention from his own frustrations. He saw Tony staring blankly at Gibbs, and Gibbs frowning back.

“Tony?” Gibbs asked, his tone oddly gentle for as angry as the boss had been since the Peck murder last week.

“I ...” Tony shook himself, much like a dog driving off a bug, and his eyes came back into focus. “My contact at Simple Pawn in Dumfries just informed me that not only has someone come in to sell the Anderson's silver candle sticks, he's still there.”

Gibbs rose from behind his desk and strode straight out of the bullpen. Tim, and everyone else, stared after him in surprise until, halfway to the elevator, Gibbs bellowed, “Well, DiNozzo?” Tony immediately rose, grabbed his backpack, and ran after the boss.

Tim took a moment to savor the feeling that they just might have had a breakthrough, before turning back to his video.

~o0o~

Gibbs stormed into Jen's office without giving Cynthia a chance to even react to his arrival. No, he didn't want to give Jen any more time to think. She'd had enough of that, given that rather than calling him about the case, she'd contacted every security checkpoint in Anacostia and ordered them to tell him to report as soon as he got back. He had only paused a moment in the bullpen to see if Tim or Ziva knew what had a bee in Jen’s bonnet, but neither had heard from her today. 

Given she could have called, could have talked to his team, could have chosen not to try to humiliate him in front of the entire staff of Anacostia (He’d heard the scuttlebutt that claimed he only came back because he was sniffing around her skirts) Gibbs felt fully justified in the rage surging through his veins.

“How can I be off assistance, Madame Director,” he said, snapping into parade rest before her desk. The wince that crossed her face at his form of address was a small bonus.

“Special Agent Gibbs, so nice of you to come and see me at last,” she said dryly. “I was hoping you'd come by and explain why I got a call from the director of the FBI this morning.”

Gibbs hid his own wince. He should have expected that.

“He wanted to thank me for the excellent interdepartmental cooperation from NCIS's MCRT on this new serial killer situation.” She flat out spat out the words 'serial killer.' “I don't suppose you'd care to tell me, now, what the hell he was talking about?”

Fortunately, Tony had spent the drive back to Quanitico babbling on theories of how to explain this situation to someone who didn’t know about shifters. Gibbs really needed to get his second some formal classes on profiling so he could use the younger man’s skills officially. 

“You are familiar with the home invasion cases we recently linked.” Gibbs paused a moment to see if Jen would nod or otherwise comment. Her eyes tightened, but she did nod. She did not speak. “On closer look, there were hints of a pattern. All victims killed with a double tap to the heart, only small items taken, no signs of the items being sold anywhere. Kills occurred twice a month, one targeted home containing a military family, the other containing a former military family. And in every home, the killer took one photograph, as far as we’ve been able to identify always a picture of the family with a pet dog.”

Jen was starting to look interested despite herself. “Souvenirs? You’re saying that your home invasion cases are really a serial killer who’s been operating under our noses for…?”

“We’re aware at least eighteen incidents in the last twelve months,” Gibbs said through gritted teeth. He was disgusted how long this bastard had stayed under the radar. “The pattern still has holes in it, so we may be missing some incidents. It’s possible they’re hiding in Detective Coltrain’s files.” Fornell was looking into it. And handling Coltrain. He might even have new information soon. “We haven’t located any incidents that don’t fit the current pattern, so we are probably missing all the experiments until our killer formalized his MO.

“However, having realized we were dealing with a probable serial killer, calling in the FBI was procedure.” Not that Gibbs usually bothered to follow procedure when it came to the FBI.

Jen took a deep breath after Gibbs stopped talking. Then she said, “You did the right thing, following procedure.” Gibbs could hear her loudly not mentioning how odd it was that he did follow procedure. “However, I would like to know why you didn’t brief _me_ on this change in your view of this case?”

Gibbs took his own deep breath, anger over everything he’d seen last night coming to the fore, even washing out his anger at Jen. “The stress of failing to kill Staff Sergeant Gregory Peck appears to have triggered a change in MO. I was planning to come speak with you after briefing my team on the new view of the case.” Okay, that was bullshit. “However, Agent Fornell had barely arrived when I received a call to a new incident. The killer attacked and killed Mrs. Anderson, wife of Corporal Anderson, and her guide dog. We believe he also subdued or killed Corporal Anderson, but either took the body with him or has kidnapped the Corporal.”

Jen frowned, but nodded. “This is not a good sign. However, you could have spoken to me this morning.”

“We were barely back from the crime scene when we received a call that the silver candlesticks stolen from the Anderson home were being offered at a pawn shop outside Quantico. Special Agent DiNozzo and I went to question the seller.”

“Send Agent McGee next time,” Jen snapped. “I want to be informed by my agents about a change in a case and the involvement of other agencies, not by the head of those other agencies.”

“Yes, Madam Director.” Gibbs stifled a smirk at her wince.

“Does this mean you have a suspect in custody?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Gibbs growled. “The seller was a homeless man, a veteran of Vietnam with a sketchy grasp on reality. He claims to have found the candlesticks in a dumpster nearby and decided to sell them.”

“If your killer has been dumping the stolen items rather than selling them, that may be why you haven’t found any sign of them previously.”

Gibbs bit back the urge to tell Jen he’d already made that connection. He needed to talk to Fornell about round the clock surveillance on that dumpster until they caught this bastard. Might as well make use of the FBI’s bigger budget. Gibbs also wanted to know how things were going leaning on Coltrain, but instead he was up here dealing with Jen. “Is there anything else, Madam Director?”

She flinched again, but really she should have known. “No, Special Agent Gibbs. Thank you for the update.” As he turned to escape she added, “Next time call me before you call the FBI and all this embarrassment can be avoided.”

Gibbs slammed the door behind him and ignored Cynthia’s shocked expression. Damn he missed Tom Morrow.

~o0o~

Fornell snarled softly as he stalked the halls of NCIS headquarters. He was quite often cranky when visiting NCIS. Dealing with Gibbs would do that to anyone. But today was a whole different kettle of fish. This time he was mad because it had been only twenty-four hours since he was informed a serial killer had been operating for thirteen months right under their noses, killing at least twice a month. And no one noticed? Unacceptable. The only comfort was that as he came around into Gibbs' corner of the bull pen, his team looked just as pissed and focused as Fornell and his team. Though, where was Ziva? 

“Detective Coltrain is a piece of work,” he snapped as soon as he caught Gibbs' eye. “Fortunately, he's also desperate for a little attention. Provide that and he spills.” Fornell dropped the folder on Gibbs' desk as soon as it was in reach.

Gibbs just raised an eyebrow and looked up at Fornell, ignoring the file.

“The bastard has been angling for a promotion, or at least a medal. Didn't take long for my boys to prove that. He left paper-trails all over.” Fornell gestured at the file. Only then did Gibbs' eyes flicker down. A wave of his hand summoned Tim from his desk to claim the file.

“I sent Sacks.” Fornell smirked. “Played the desperate agent needing to impress his boss, promised lots of public notice when the FBI took over. Promised to pull the case from NCIS.” Gibbs growled. “As soon as he admitted the missing evidence was all at his place, I had a warrant drawn up. Sacks is now interrogating him at the FBI and we're tearing his place apart.” The click of the one CD in the file going into a disk drive was barely audible, but Fornell didn't have to turn around to guess that Tim was checking out the wiretap recording first.

“Send everything to Abby,” Gibbs ordered, turning his attention back to his computer.

Fornell snorted. “We got the files. We get first crack.”

Gibbs glared, but Fornell was not backing down. And he wasn't done with today's discoveries.

“I will, however, give you first crack at this. He carried this on his person.” Fornell pulled the plastic evidence bag from his pocket, dangling the bullet casing inside at Gibbs' eye level.

Gibbs shifted his focus to the contents of the bag, but it was Tony that spoke first. 

“Which case?” the Italian shifter asked, appearing at Fornell's side.

“Apparently he didn't police his brass on one of the early cases,” Fornell said. “Coltrain claims to have found it in the grass at what he believes was the first killing.”

“DiNozzo, get back to those financials,” Gibbs ordered as he stood. “We're taking this down to Abby.”

Fornell frowned, as Gibbs was even less verbal than usual, but followed to the elevator. As soon as the elevator started moving, Gibbs slapped the emergency stop.

Not waiting for Gibbs to manage to start talking, Fornell said, “Anything new from the scene last night?”

Gibbs growled. “As far as anyone knows, the bastard killed the recently blinded wife of Marine Corporal Anderson and her guide dog. I need the FBI to back me on the theory that Anderson was there and was wounded, and either went after the bastard when he ran or was taken captive.”

Fornell stared at Gibbs a moment, trying to make sense of the situation. Strangely, Gibbs wouldn't meet his eyes. “Where is Corporal Anderson?”

“Guide dog,” Gibbs said firmly, finally meeting Fornell's eyes. There was a dark glint, more than just the anger that Fornell had faced back with Ari. And this time it wasn't partly aimed at Fornell, but that didn't make the look any easier to face.

“Good God,” Fornell said as it finally clicked. “Does your ME know who he has on his slab?”

Gibbs nodded. “Abby's working on DNA confirmation, but the Anderson kids confirmed he's been helping her prepare for when they got a dog.”

Shaking his head at the horror of the situation, Fornell asked, “Anything else the FBI can do?”

“How far is your boss willing to go?” Gibbs asked.

“He's like me, so damn near as far as I have to,” Fornell said. The FBI director had broken out into laughter when Fornell reported that NCIS had brought a case to them, asking how he’d finally worn Gibbs down. The laughter had ended, however, after the hint registered that someone had been killing shifters in the Quanitco area for over a year without anyone noticing. The director had three kids, all shifters. Fornell had free reign and was planning to stretch his authority to the limit to get this bastard. “Yours?”

Gibbs shook his head and his mouth wrinkled in disgust. “Nothing and only as far as I can sweet talk her.”

That startled a chuckle out of Fornell. “Damn, for once I've got better support.” But he tamped his amusement down. There was a time and a place, and this was neither. “We can take point.”

“Hell no,” Gibbs snapped, but Fornell had expected that. “But one of DiNozzo's contacts came up with stolen objects from the crime scene. Homeless man brought them to a pawn shop. We questioned him and he claims to have found them in the dumpster behind the shopping center out front of the Quantico main gates.”

“Interesting,” Fornell said, brow furrowed. “Could explain why none of the stolen items showed up before. Did your witness see who placed the items in the dumpster?” Gibbs shook his head. “Hmm, might still be worthwhile to put some eyes on the location.”

“I don't want anything to spook our killer, not now that we're finally making progress,” Gibbs said. 

Fornell rolled his eyes. He knew Gibbs' opinion of most of the FBI was just below his of most of NCIS. “I've access to a few very dedicated techs and trained agents who have every reason to want this bastard caught. Or dead.” He'd been sussing out the shifters in every office he visited ever since Gibbs dumped that damned cult in Texas into his lap. Fortunately, again with authority from on high. “I'll have some cameras installed and some people watching until he's caught or proven to move, even if they have to volunteer the time. And they won't be caught.” He gave Gibbs a pointed look and bared his teeth. 

A smile curled up at the corner of Gibbs lips. “Just remind them that he can spot the characteristics of a shifter in wolf form too,” he said, slapping the emergency stop button again. “'S probably how he spotted Corporal Anderson.”

Fornell followed Gibbs when the elevator doors finally opened, down the hall echoing with raucous music to the domain of NCIS’s precious lab goth. Fornell would rather have turned the noise down and discussed things, but Gibbs didn’t bother. He just got into Abby’s space, slapped the bullet casing down in front of her, and…. Huh. Fornell hadn’t known Gibbs could sign, but it appeared the old bastard was giving orders in sign language and Abby was responding in kind. And looking frustrated. And shaking her head. And clearly trying to make a point Gibbs did not want to hear because she threw up her hands and rolled her eyes when he stalked off.

Fornell chuckled, waved, and followed Gibbs. If nothing else, the NCIS agent brought amusement into Fornell’s life.


	8. Chapter 8

Tony wanted to growl when Jen cornered him in a back hall. He was only back there because he was trying to figure out how he was going to tell Jeanne he was not going to be available for the next couple nights. This case was just too hot. There was no way Gibbs would let him go with Corporal Anderson on the slab downstairs.

“I have something for you tonight.”

“I can’t,” Tony said firmly, trying to hide the utter disbelief he was feeling. “Corporal Anderson is missing—”

“One of the people you identfied with La Grenouille is back in town.” Her eyes were alight with some vicious delight. “I need you to follow him tonight. See who he meets with.”

“Jenny, I can’t—”

“He’s scheduled to leave DC again tomorrow. This is our only chance.”

“Madame Director,” Tony snapped. That actually got her to stop and focus on him instead of whatever she was plotting inside her head. “I have a missing Corporal and almost fifty identified victims. There is no way I can get away tonight. You will have to second someone else.”

“This case is need to know.”

“Then someone else needs to know.”

Tony didn’t know what caught his attention. God knew Gibbs could walk silently in the worst of conditions. But something drew Tony’s eye to the end of the hall where Gibbs was standing. It was like Tony just _knew_ when Gibbs was around. Which was ridiculous. Completely insane. But there was Gibbs all the same, blue eyes asking questions that seemed plain as day to Tony.

“Special Agent DiNozzo,” Jen spat. “you—”

“Browbeating my agents now, Director?” Gibbs cut in.

Somehow she turned and managed to look perfectly pleasant as she smiled at Gibbs. “Just asking for an update. I thought Tony might be a bit more forthcoming than you’ve been of late.”

“Oh, really,” Gibbs growled low, a tone that always went straight to Tony’s hind brain. Tonight it was turning him on like crazy seeing the boss all growly and protective.

“Abby come up with something new, boss?” Tony cut in before he could melt into an inappropriate puddle.

“No. I was just coming to tell you to head out.” Gibbs cocked his head in question, glancing at Jen. “McGee has some algorithm thing checking the financials for patterns and we’ve got every agency looking for Coporal Anderson. Better to get some sleep and come in fresh tomorrow.”

Tony blinked. Twice. Who was this and what had he done with Gibbs? Who was looking at Jen again… Ah. “Right. Thanks, boss. I was just telling the director about everything Fornell got out of Detective Coltrain. You want to finish or should I?”

“You go ahead,” Gibbs said. “But don’t keep him too late, Director. I need him sharp tomorrow.”

“Of course, Agent Gibbs,” Jen said magnanimously. 

“Hey, I can be plenty sharp on an hour here or there,” Tony said playfully.

Gibbs nodded. He got the hint. “But I’d rather you get enough sleep. You had none last night and who knows what tomorrow might bring.”

Set and match. Tony nodded, tilting his head just a little to the side. He’d get some sleep tonight. Somehow. Or come in late after sleeping.

“DiNozzo. Director.” Gibbs gave another little nod, eyes icy as he looked to Jen, then stomped off, footsteps oddly audible.

“Well, it seems you have a free evening after all,” Jen said as soon as the sound of those footsteps faded.

Tony plastered a smile on his face. “So it seems. Now, who was it you wanted me to follow?”

~o0o~

Gibbs was not good with phones, but he knew enough to be able to send Tony a text as he walked back to the bullpen to tell McGee and Ziva to go home.

_Call if you need anything._

~o0o~

Tim shared a surprised look with Ziva when Gibbs ordered them home before six. This was not normal behavior, even if they did know their missing Marine was actually safely dead. But while Ziva was fast to scamper off, Tim was not.

“Go on, McGee,” Gibbs prompted again after collapsing into his desk chair.

“Only if you go too,” Tim said firmly, though he tilted his head a little as he said it. “You didn’t sleep last night either.”

Gibbs sighed, looking more worn down than Tim thought he’d ever seen the boss. Not even while chasing down Ari and barely sleeping for weeks. It couldn’t just be this case, though it was awful. There was something else going on here.

Exhaustion transformed in an instant into blazing rage and Gibbs slammed his fist into his desk. “There has got to be a clue here somewhere. We’re missing something.”

Tim nodded. “I know, boss. But my algorithm will spit something out in the morning, and the computer can crunch this better than we can, especially without sleep.”

“Go home,Tim,” Gibbs said, all that anger washing out of him again.

“I’m just waiting on the financials from the family Detective Coltrian thinks were the the first victims. Soon as it comes in I’m out of here.”

“You’re going to get financial documents this time of night?”

Tim smirked a little. “The main office of their bank is in St. Louis for some reason. Besides, I called in a few favors.” He tapped the side of his neck.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips a moment. Then he nodded. “All right. Head home as soon as you’ve got that information in your algrorithm thingy.”

“Yes, boss,” Tim said, but he didn’t take his eyes off Gibbs. Who didn’t move from his desk. It took another five minutes of Tim’s gaze boring holes in Gibbs before the older man huffed and stood.

“You are a pain, McGee,” he snapped, but he grabbed his gun and badge from the drawer.

“Yes, boss,” Tim said a little smuggly. He was getting to like this new team dynamic.

~o0o~

Gibbs went home. Not to sleep. There was no way he could sleep. He was too nervous. Nervous about Tony being out on some op of Jen’s. Nervous about Greg in that damned hospital bed. Nervous about how many more bodies would be on Ducky’s slab before they got this bastard.

Nights like this, even the boat wasn’t enough. But Gibbs went to the basement anyway. He had some small pieces he could knock around. It would either end up a toy to donate to some charity or sawdust.

When the first floorboard creaked, Gibbs thought just maybe Jen’s thing hadn’t taken all that long and Tony had decided to come by instead of call. But before he could really relax, the floorboard by the stairs creaked and Gibbs froze. There was no one who knew him, who knew anything about him, that would start a search for him by going upstairs. His service weapon was upstairs, but his sniper rifle could work just fine. He pulled it out of the locked cubby and slipped silently beneath the stairs. 

And waited.

And waited.

A voice started cursing in the kitchen. Deep, male.

“Where the fuck is he?” the voice said. “His damned car is here. Come on, you old bastard… Maybe he’s a jogger? Could explain the unlocked door… God, who leaves their door unlocked these days?”

As the voice finally connected with a name, Gibbs bit back a bark of laughter. Coltrain.

Except, why was he here? The detective didn’t have any reasonable excuse to come to Gibbs’ house. And the unreasonable reasons made for a long, and mostly unpleasant, list.

Gibbs took a chance and pulled one hand off his rifle. His cell phone was in his pocket for once, and as he listened to Coltrain stomp around, Gibbs sent a quick text.

_You lose something?_

Before a response could come back, Coltrain must have noticed the basement door, because the door opened and the feet thumped onto the stairs.

_Subtle,_ Gibbs thought derisively. And waited.

There was no gun in Coltrain’s hands when he stepped into view, but Gibbs didn’t let down his guard. He waited until Coltrain was looking elsewhere but was close enough to touch. Then Gibbs made contact with Coltrain’s neck, using the business end of his rifle.

Coltrain froze.

“This is a Bravo-51 rifle,” Gibbs said softly, tone intent. “I could put a hole in a man’s head with this from almost a mile away. I’m sure you can imagine what it would do at this distance.”

“There you are,” Coltrain said, and twiched like he was going to turn around.

Gibbs jammed the rifle barrel harder into Coltrain’s neck. “Don’t move. Now, you have entered my home without invitation. Either you’re packing a warrent, which I doubt, or I have every right to blow your head off right now.”

“I’m no threat,” Coltrain spat.

“No? Could be. You could also be that killer we’re hunting.” Gibbs ignored the buzz of his phone in his pocket. “Now walk forward, all the way to the bench.”

Coltrain did as ordered, turning at the bench with a snarl on his features. “I’m no killer.”

“No?” Gibbs said, rifle still pointed at the detective. “Then what the hell are you doing in my house?”

Before Coltrain could respond, they were both distracted by the loud bang of the front door being slammed open. Gibbs resisted the urge to roll his eyes only because he was remaining focused on his targe.

“Damn it, Fornell,” he muttered as multiple feet tromped through the house, floorboards creaking.

“That’s how you knew I was here,” Coltrain said, looking up at the framing over his head.

Gibbs could hear Abby’s reply of “Duh,” but kept his own mouth shut. 

“Gibbs, you down there?” Fornell called next from the top of the kitchen stairs.

“Yep,” Gibbs said. “Found something of yours.”

Fornell came down the stairs, gun drawn, and huffed once his head dropped into view. “Sorry about that, Gibbs. He almost shook us.”

“Would have appreciated a heads up when you let him loose,” Gibbs said dryly.

“Didn’t think he’d be stupid enough to come here,” Fornell replied.

“Hey!”

Gibbs and Fornell just glared at the detective.

“Way I figure it,” Fornell said, “I’ve got you dead to rights on obstruction charges, and you just added breaking and entering—”

“Only one who broke anything was you,” Gibbs muttered.

“—and assault of a federal officer. Maybe even attempted murder. Hey, Gibbs, think this could be our guy?”

Gibbs snorted. “Ain’t smart enough by half.” He’d rejected that theory when Coltrain came down unarmed. 

“Which still leaves the question,” Fornell drawled.

“What?”Coltrain spat.

“What the fuck are you doing breaking into a federal officer’s home in the middle of the night?” 

Fornell’s roar seemed to get through to the detective where Gibbs’ rifle had not. Coltrain flinched and collapsed back against the workbench.

“I want in,” he muttered, voice barely audible. “This is my case.”

“This was a case you could have been involved in if you hadn’t hidden half the evidence and obstructed everyone’s attempts to solve it.” Gibbs didn’t bother to put the rifle down as he roared back. He was pretty well convinced the FBI agents upstairs were taking bets on whether Coltrain would be going home in a body bag or a diaper, but Gibbs didn’t much care right now. As long as he got some answers.

“I wasn’t—”

“If you had just mentioned last June that you recognized the MO, we might have caught this bastard and his kill count would be less than twenty instead of more than forty.” Gibbs struggled to hold his position. He wanted to kill the bastard, the obstructionist fool who had let so many children die.

“Men, women, and children, dead because you wanted what?” Fornell said, bringing up his gun for the first time since he spotted Coltrain. “Because you wanted the glory?”

“Because something good should have come from what happened to Neal.” Coltrain took half a step forward, beating his chest like a fool trying to look big. “I should get something for all he took from me.”

Gibbs frowned, thinking. Neal… the first victim, Neal and Joseph Conroy. Lieutenant Joseph Conroy, retired, age thirty, had been DOA, shot to the head. His son, Neal, age four, also shot in the head, had still been breathing when his mother found him in the back yard, laying next to his father. Was still breathing now, but he’d never get up and play again. He was breathing on his own, but the doctors weren’t very optimistic that he’d ever come out of the coma.

“Neal,” Gibbs breathed. “Not Joseph… Who is he to you?”

Coltrain looked mulish and couldn’t have made it clearer he wasn’t talking if he’d acted out zipping up his lips.

Gibbs lowered the rifle and shrugged. “Fine then. Fornell, get this trash out of my house. I’ll have Abby and McGee figure it out.”

“I’ll get you a DNA sample,” Fornell promised, “one way or another.” Then he called for his men to come down with some cuffs.

Coltrain blanched.

Gibbs smirked. “Ah. There it is. Brother? Nephew? Cousin? Son?”

At “son,” Coltrain swayed.

“You used your own son for a bid for advancement?” Gibbs spat on the floor, nausea building in his gut. “Get him out of my house.” He had meant it before, but this time no one could mistake the rage in his voice.

“He’s gone,” Fornell promised, looking no more pleased than Gibbs felt. “I thought it’d be interesting to see where he went.” He shook his head. “I think I no longer care.” Coltrain was cuffed and handed over to the junior agents. Before he left the basement, Fornell added, pointedly, “I’ll make sure to document his motivations very, very carefully.”

Coltrain swayed alarmingly—people who hurt kids didn’t last long in prison—but the junior FBI crew seemed to be prepared because they got him up and out without any thumps indicative of collapse.

“Sick fuck,” Fornell muttered. “Sorry about that, Gibbs.”

Gibbs nodded, teeth clenched.

“I’ll…” Fornell paused and shook his head. “Fuck…. I’ll get someone over to fix that door. Kids didn’t know you never lock it.”

Gibbs nodded.

“You want me….?”

Gibbs shook his head.

“You sure?”

“Get out of my house, Tobias.”

Fornell let out a deep sigh, but nodded. He paused another moment, looking like he wanted to say something, but left without another word.

Gibbs waited until the last foot hit the creaky floorboard, until silence had settled back into his home. Gibbs waited until he had to move, until the silence seemed to strangle him.

But he couldn’t scream. Oh, he wanted to. To scream and rage and destroy. He wanted to run and howl and pour out his anguish to the sky.

But he couldn’t. The sounds were locked inside.

Instead, Gibbs walked up the stairs, slowly, carefully, firmly. He walked through the kitchen and up the stairs to the room he’d once shared with Shanon. None of his other wives had shared that room. He’d switched things up time and again. He’d never brought anyone else over while he was in that room. No one but Tony.

Tonight the bed was big and empty and so painfully lonely. In the center, Gibbs curled slowly, carefully, deliberately. And then, only then, he cried.


	9. Chapter 9

Tony was late to work the next day and pissed about it. He’d gotten almost no sleep thanks to the Director. No, instead he’d spent the night trailing someone with a possible connection (maybe, possibly, kinda, sorta) to the Frog. Which really meant he’d watched some guy eat dinner alone in a hotel restaurant, go to his room, and then spent the rest of the night trying to stay awake while theoretically observing whether said possible suspect left the hotel.

In reality, there was no way to know one way or the other whether the guy left. Tony was one guy. He couldn’t cover an entire hotel by himself. He didn’t have access to cameras even. Nope, it was just himself and the fucking Director calling him every hour or two to ask if there was anything new. Tony was really about ready to tell Gibbs everything and tell the Director where she could shove this investigation. Hell, he’d almost called Gibbs half a dozen times that night.

He’d gotten maybe an hour of sleep, and only that because he’d fallen asleep on the couch when he sat down to pull on his shoes after changing at home. He’d woken up on his own, not to a call from Gibbs, which had surprised the hell out of him.

When Tony did arrive at NCIS headquarters, Ziva and Tim were working away at something and Gibbs was probably getting coffee. Tony kept his head down and waited for the head slap to come.

After half an hour with no Gibbs, Tony stopped expecting and started worrying.

~o0o~

Gibbs woke far later than normal, his eyes gummy and raw from crying and the sun’s light digging into his skull. There was no way the sun should reach his bed at any reasonable hour of the morning.

That was his first thought, the thought that got his head up and his brain to start moving.

Raising his head and trying to get upright made him realize he couldn’t move his hands because they were still tangled up in his rifle. Somehow he’d brought the damned thing to bed with him. His right forefinger was even wrapped around the trigger.

He hissed out a breath at that realization and stared at his own hands in horror. After decades as an NCIS agent and Marine, after sniper training, holding a gun was comfortable, automatic, natural. But today, now, he could not recognize the hands wrapped around his rifle. They were not his. Could not be his. He wouldn’t…

Shivering hard, not at the cold but rather at his own emotions, Gibbs slipped his hands away from the rifle and hauled himself out of bed. He left the weapon where it lay and shuffled like the aged fool he was to the shower.

He didn’t check the safety. He didn’t want to know.

~o0o~

“Probie, you seen Gibbs?”

Tim looked up from his screen, a frown on his features and his gaze bouncing about the room. “No?”

Tony didn’t wait for Tim to think further, turning to Ziva. She was already looking right at him. “You seen him, Ziva?”

“No. Perhaps he is meeting with the Director?”

A quick call to Cynthia proved that was not the case. A call to Gibbs’ cell went to voicemail. Tony didn’t leave a message, just rose and grabbed his gun and bag.

Ziva was immediately in his face. “Where are you going?”

“To find Gibbs.” Tony made to push past and almost got his arm twisted out of its socket for his pains. “Hey, no mangling the coworkers,” he snapped.

“Where is Gibbs?” she demanded.

“I. Don’t. Know,” Tony spat.

“He’s not here?” Fornell came up to the bullpen, his voice and expression both holding concern.

“No.” Tony glared at the FBI agent. “Do you know something we don’t?”

Fornell frowned a moment and pulled out his cell phone. Tony couldn’t see the number dialed or hear the voice on the line, but he could tell from the set of Fornell’s shoulders that Gibbs didn’t pick up.

Tony stepped into Fornell’s space, studying the increasing little signs that all screamed of Fornell’s worry. “What don’t I know?” Tony hissed.

Fornell tried to plaster on a smile, but Tony wasn’t buying it. Finally, Fornell cracked. “Coltrain showed up at Gibbs’ house last night.”

“And?” Ziva cut in. “I do not believe that little fool a threat to Gibbs.”

The glare Ziva got from Fornell was almost worthy of Gibbs. “No, no threat. But it turns out Neal Conroy was probably really Neal Coltrain.”

Ziva looked confused, but Tony got it. “His son was the first victim.” With a growl he turned and slammed his fist into the divider. It shuddered and twisted against the corner supporting it. Tony turned back to Fornell. “You left him alone?”

“Coltrain?” Ziva asked.

Fornell just shrugged. “He told me to leave.”

Tony came close to throwing his next punch into Fornell’s face. Instead, he just pushed past the FBI agent and headed for the elevator.

“Where are you going?” Ziva demanded.

“To find Gibbs,” Tony snarled. He didn’t wait for her to catch up to him, not even to wait for the elevator. He just went straight for the stairs.The sooner he got to his car the better. The sooner he got to Gibbs’ house the better. And the bastard better be there, safe and sound, or Tony was going to kill—

Gibbs was standing just inside the metal detectors as Tony strode into the lobby. It took everything Tony had to just stand there, to only look and not throw his arms around Gibbs and reassure himself the alpha was really standing there. Tony’s hands clenched as he looked Gibbs over, taking in the strained lines of his face, the red around his eyes, the shadows in his expression.

A quirk of Gibbs’ head asked, “What?”.

“You’re late,” Tony replied.

A shrug of Gibbs shoulders said, “So?”

“Coltrain came to your place?”

Gibbs snorted and gave that look that meant he was mentally rolling his eyes. “Fornell?”

Tony nodded, lips turning down. Gibbs should have sounded irritated or amused saying Fornell’s name. But he just sounded tired. Really tired. Like he had after the Cape Fear. Tony tossed his head toward the elevator.

Rather than reply, Gibbs just started walking. Tony followed. It was late enough in the morning that they had the elevator to themselves. So there was no one else to see Tony slap the emergency stop and step into Gibb’s space.

“You didn’t answer your cell,” Tony hissed from less than an inch away from Gibbs’ face.

“Forgot to charge it last night.”

“Forgot?”

“I’m fine, Tony.”

Tony’s hands slammed into Gibbs’ shoulders without conscious direction, and the older man fell back into the wall, Tony looming over him. “You….” Tony didn’t know what to say. Gibbs was not fine. Hadn’t been fine since Gregory Peck was shot. Tony was not fine. Hadn't been since Gibbs was blown up. He wanted…. something. But he didn’t know what.

Gibbs’ hand settled on Tony’s shoulder, pressing against the junction with his neck. “I’m fine, Tony,” Gibbs said, this time sounding like he almost believed it. “I don’t have time to be anything else right now.”

Tony snorted at that, but melted into Gibbs’ touch and backed off a little. Gibbs followed, slipping an arm around Tony’s waist and pulling him in. Tony rested his forehead on Gibbs’ shoulder for a minute.

“We’re okay, Tony,” Gibbs whispered into Tony’s hair, and that time Tony could almost believe it.

With a sigh, Tony straightened and pulled back. The arm around his waist fell away quickly, but the hand on his shoulder squeezed tight for a moment before letting go. “His son?” he breathed.

Gibbs snorted. “Bastard thought he should get something out of his loss.”

“Like a promotion,” Tony said dryly. “My God.”

“We’re gonna get this bastard.” Gibbs hit the emergency stop.

“You bet we are.” Tony growled. The threat to the pack had gone on long enough.

The doors opened. Gibbs charged out and Tony followed on his heels.

~o0o~

Tim was relieved when Gibbs arrived only minutes after Tony went to find him, and with Tony at his heels. Both of them looked awful, but Tony did look calmer. And given how out of control he’d looked before he left, that was a miracle. Tim had pulled up the police blotter to look for accidents the minute Tony had left. Not that he didn’t trust the senior agent’s driving, but…

Well, today he didn’t trust Tony’s driving.

“Boss,” Tim said, standing as Gibbs came into the bullpen.

“Anything come out of that computer thing last night?” Gibbs snapped, straight to business.

In some ways that was comforting. Gibbs was being Gibbs. But there was something about his eyes, the pain in his face, that kept Tim from really relaxing. Something happened last night, and his alpha was not over it.

“Nothing conclusive,” Tim said. “It spat out no correlation. I’m trying to tweak the parameters to do another run.”

“I want eyes on while he does that,” Gibbs spat, swinging around to look at Tony and Ziva. “No more trusting tech to save the day. You look through every financial statement, every credit report.”

Tony went straight to his desk, but Tim watched as Ziva stood there, staring at Gibbs.

“Now, David,” Gibbs roared, and she finally turned, stalking to her desk with a stiff back. She might as well have screamed that she was doing so only under protest. 

_SSA DiNozzo: Idiot_ popped up on Tim’s screen through the interdepartmental IM.

 _SA McGee: He’s okay?_ Tim IMed back.

_SSA DiNozzo: As much as he’s gonna be until we find this killer._

_SSA DiNozzo: That program of yours dump outliers?_

Tim considered that a moment and replied in the negative.

_SSA DiNozzo: Wondering if that first target was of opportunity. Or known to the killer. Something set him off the first time._

_SA McGee: I can make it summarize more. Identify outliers. Maybe correlate same store names not in the same location._

_SSA DiNozzo: Good thought. Go for it. How long?_

_SA McGee: Probably this evening._

_SSA DiNozzo: Soon as you get that running, start the eyes on. Maybe we’ll catch something before that program does._

_SA McGee: Worth a try, anyway._

~o0o~

Gibbs ignored Fornell as he got his people working and started pulling up his own copies of the various financial records they’d gotten for their victims. But Fornell would not be ignored forever and eventually Gibbs let himself be dragged to the elevator.

“You okay?” Fornell asked as soon as he hit the stop button.

“I’ll live,” Gibbs said, unable to hide a little of the bleakness he felt after last night.

Fornell studied him closely, enough to make Gibbs feel twitchy. He wanted to tell Fornell to stop, to dominate him like one of his pack. But Gibbs couldn’t. Well, he might be able to, but Fornell was another alpha of his own pack, and that kind of emotional overlap would just cause problems in the future.

“You shouldn’t be alone tonight,” Fornell finally said.

“You offering to sleep over?” Gibbs snapped. Then he closed his eyes and reined himself in. 

“No, but I will if I have to. I shouldn’t have left you alone last night.” Fornell put a hand on Gibbs’ shoulder, far enough out it could be construed as comfort only and not a show of dominance. “I expected you to beat me here.”

Gibbs nodded. “Me too. I’m fine though.”

Fornell frowned and hmmed. “Well, you are for now. Call me tonight if you—”

“I’ll be fine,” Gibbs said, barely keeping back from a snarl. “Anything new on the case?”

“Coltrain finally coughed up everything, but he’s got less than he thinks. There’s a military connection, but we could have told him that. He thinks there’s a dog owner aspect—”

“We know better.”

“Quite. There is one bit of evidence we didn’t have, a slip of paper with the address of the house handwritten on it, dropped in the backyard of the Watts house last September. He hid that one from us, because Ex-Captain Watts died in the back yard and nothing was taken, but the MO was identical otherwise. There are fingerprints on the paper, but we haven’t managed to find them in any database yet. I’ll let you know if we find anything.”

“Send copies of everything to Abby.”

“I’ve told my superiors, and his, what all he’s pulled and they’re throwing the book at him.” Fornell shook his head, a look of utter disgust on his face. “Should have told his boss he had a personal connection to the first one. Idiot.”

“Anything at the dumpster?”

“Well, given there hasn’t been a new killing—”

“Thank God,” Gibbs breathed.

“No, but we’re tracking the regular visitors. So far it’s mostly people from the nearest restaurants and stores, Starbucks, McDonalds, Papa Johns. We’ll keep monitoring, but that isn’t likely to help unless we have another death.” Fornell’s jaw clenched, and Gibbs knew the other alpha wanted that about as much as he did.

“We’ll find him first,” Gibbs swore.

“We’ll try. but he’s accelerated since the Pecks.”

Gibbs slammed his fist into the stop button, letting the elevator carry them back to the office level. “I know.”

~o0o~

“Starbucks and CVS,” Ziva snapped that evening, the words blurring before her eyes as she looked at yet another credit report. “They all went to Starbucks and CVS, but not the same stores.” She threw the printouts down. “It does not make sense.”

“Actually, the Conroys did not go to Starbucks, and the Petrovitch and Volkov families used Walmart Pharmacy,” Tim said.

Tony’s head came up sharply from behind his monitor. “Only the Conroys?”

Tim took a minute to answer, going over something in his computer. “Yes…” he began softly. “Yes,” he said more firmly, “everyone else was a Starbucks addict.” 

“Credit card?” Tony asked?

“Yes,” Tim said, a grin spreading across his face. “Actually, my program found one other correlation. Every single family, except the Conroys, had a credit check within a week of their death.”

“Find out who performed those credit checks,” Gibbs ordered.

“On it, Boss, but it might be morning before we can reach anyone,” Tim said, fingers already flying across his keyboard.

Ziva studied Gibbs for the umpteenth time today. He was not himself. He had not been through this case, but since last night it was worse. She was concerned. And all of this… _shifter_ nonsense did not make it any easier to know what to do. She had tried time and again today to challenge him, to confront him, to learn the truth, but Tony kept getting in the way.

She did not like it.

“Still plugging away?” Abby bounced into the bullpen, ever chipper.

“Anything new to share?” Gibbs snapped back.

“I’m running Fornell’s fingerprints myself, but nothing so far,” Abby said, far too perkily given Gibbs’ mood. “Whoever touched that paper isn’t military, at least.”

“He might have an accomplice at a credit check company,” Tim said.

“Ooh,” Abby said, bouncing over to Tim’s desk. “Everyone had a credit check?”

“Within a week of their deaths. And within a week of last using their card at a Starbucks.” Tim huffed. “But not the same Starbucks.”

“Well, sometimes employees will fill shifts at other nearby stores,” Abby said.

Silence struck the room with a palpable blow.

“Call those stores,” Gibbs ordered. “I want to know who was working there when those cards were run.”

“I’ll start asking, but we may need more before they share their records,” Tim said, already lifting his phone.

“They may not keep their shift records this long,” Tony said. 

“Even the most recent killings should give us a point of reference.”

“Did not Gregory and Richard Peck meet the morning before the attack,” Ziva said, remembering something from Tim’s report.

“At Starbucks,” Gibbs said. “Who was working that shift in that store?”

Ziva could only sit and stare at her teammates as phone calls were made frantically. It was only a short flurry, petering out after a few minutes.

Tony leaned back in his chair as he hung up, a sour expression on his face. “They won’t give me anything until the manager comes in tomorrow.”

A deep growl came from Gibbs’ desk, and for a moment Ziva wondered if he had transformed into a wolf, even if Tony insisted Gibbs was not capable.

“It is our best opening,” Tony said, his eyes fixed on Gibbs from across the bullpen. “Tomorrow morning isn’t too long to wait.”

The staring continued for over a minute. Ziva could not tell what the result was or how they knew to end it. As suddenly as it had started, both men looked away.

“Go home. Get some sleep,” Gibbs ordered. “Be back here 0600. You too, Abby.”

~o0o~

Tony followed Gibbs down to the garage. He tried to peel off to his own car, tried to think about going home and how good his own bed would feel for six hours.

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t leave Gibbs. Not after last night. Not after how Gibbs had come in that morning. And Tony was too damned tired to resist his instincts, so he ended up right on Gibbs’ heels all the way to the alpha’s car.

“DiNozzo,” Gibbs said, turning around after unlocking his door, bumping Tony with his shoulder as he did so.

“Boss… I’m sorry, I can’t—” Tony forced out.

Gibbs put his hands on Tony’s shoulders, close enough to his neck to settle him. Then looked at him. Long and hard. Tony didn’t know what his alpha saw in that minute, but at the end, Gibbs just nodded.

“Get in.”

“Boss?”

“You’re too tired to drive. Got a change?”

Tony tapped the strap over his shoulder. He had a spare shirt and underwear at the bottom of the backpack. Horribly wrinkled, but they’d do.

“Anyone asks, I took you to your place.”

Tony’s knees gave out from under him and only Gibb’s hand under his elbow gave him time to recover instead of face planting on the concrete.

“Into the car,” Gibbs said again, carefully guiding Tony around and to the passenger seat. Only once they were both inside and the car running did he add, “I’ll welcome the company tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, good news. I have one chapter left to write. Chapter 10 is done. And I will post it once I finish Chapter 11. Which I hope to finish this week so I can post it before the Rough Trade challenge starts for July. So fingers crossed. Cheerleadering is welcome.


	10. Chapter 10

Gibbs didn’t realize Tony had fallen asleep on the drive home, not until he turned off the car and heard a soft snore. It startled a chuckle out of him. Which surprised him since he’d rather thought laughter would be beyond him for another week at least.

He popped the seat belt and shook Tony’s shoulder. “Come on, DiNozzo. We’re here.”

“Five more minutes, Boss,” Tony muttered. Without the seatbelt to hold him up, he folded and rolled towards Gibbs until his head rested on his alpha’s shoulder.

“You’ll sleep a lot more comfortable inside,” Gibbs prompted, gently nudging Tony back towards upright.

The shifter just pushed back and snuffled into Gibbs’ shirt.

“Oh for the love of… Tony! Up and at em!” Gibbs didn’t bellow, but since his mouth was right by Tony’s ear, it should have been quite loud enough.

But it didn’t work. Tony just curled into himself, slunk deeper into his seat, and shifted.

It was ludicrous, a wolf twisted up in a car seat and tangled in a suit. But it didn’t make Gibbs laugh. He sighed, frustrated by how tired Tony had to be to shift like that. “Damn it, Tony,” Gibbs muttered, reaching for the buttons on Tony’s shirt. “I told you to get some sleep.”

It took a few minutes, but he managed to open the shirt and pants, then shake Tony enough to get his eyes half open. At that point Tony was willing to follow, but not to think enough to move normally. So instead of getting out his own door, he followed Gibbs out the driver side door. He didn’t grab his clothes, so Gibbs leaned over and snatched them up, rolling the lot into a bundle that would surely get him bitched out for later. Gibbs could imagine it as he slammed the car door, Tony trying to merge with his legs.

“Move it,” he muttered, shoving the wolf with his free hand. It didn’t help. Tony kept almost knocking Gibbs over the whole way to the house, refusing to move away and constantly leaning into Gibbs’ legs.

If he hadn’t been so tired, he’d be laughing his ass off. And giving Tony an earful of teasing later. But Gibbs just didn’t have the strength. He pushed his way through the unlocked door and headed for the stairs. Tony must have kicked the door because Gibbs heard it close and latch behind him, all with Tony glued to his legs.

Tony had to fall back for the stairs, otherwise they would have been bouncing off the wall and railing, probably resulting in bruised hips and ribs for both of them. But Tony didn’t fall back much, his nose brushing against Gibb’s pants with every step. And once they hit the hall, Tony was back trying to knock Gibbs over with his weight.

“Impossible,” Gibbs muttered as they stumbled into the master bedroom. He turned and dropped Tony’s clothes on the dresser. Much to his relief, Tony pulled away and jumped onto the bed. But Gibbs only made it as far as shedding his coat when a canine yelp drew him to the bed.

Where Tony was standing on three legs, staring down at the rifle still laying on the blankets.

Gibbs stared at the rifle for a good minute until the feel of eyes on him turned his attention to Tony, who was staring with a mixture of confusion and horror in his eyes. And questions. Questions Gibbs couldn’t…

He turned and walked out of the room.

~o0o~

Tony stared after Gibbs, Adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream. He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gotten into Gibbs’ bedroom, but he couldn’t miss the familiar smell of his alpha everywhere. he also couldn’t miss the big honking gun laying in the middle of Gibbs’ bed.

Or the way Gibbs had just left, his eyes bleak and empty.

Shivers ran down Tony’s spine as he turned back to the gun. The gun covered in Gibbs’ scent, especially around the trigger. The gun with the safety off.

With a shake to settle his ruff, which was standing on end, Tony shifted. Still kneeling on the bed, he reached out a careful hand and snapped the safety on. Then he popped the breach open and removed the bullet.

“Fuck,” he muttered. No way he’d sleep now, not with the amount of adrenaline running through his system. Not that he was particularly coherent either. This case had to end soon or he was going to end up in a hospital bed when his immune system gave out. And wouldn’t that be fun to explain to Jeanne.

~o0o~

Tony’s feet set the steps to creaking as he walked into the basement. “We need to talk.”

Gibbs kept running the sandpaper over the exterior of the cabin he’d knocked together with his frustration over Tony. It was almost a pity he hadn’t had a relationship fall apart in years. He worked a lot faster when he was emotionally confused. Another month or two at this rate and he’d have the Kelly completely finished.

“Gibbs, what was that up there?”

From the corner of his eye, Gibbs saw Tony sit on the steps, his whole frame hunched over, exhaustion written in every line of him. The rifle lay beside him.

Gibbs tried really hard not to think about how good Tony looked in nothing but a pair of his gray sweatpants, even this tired. He tried even harder not to think about the rifle.

“Boss, please. You’re scaring me.”

It was hard, but Gibbs turned to his second, to his mate. “I…” But he had no words. How could he explain what he himself didn’t understand?

“Coltrain really shook you up last night.” Tony stared, chewing on his lower lip, and Gibbs really wanted to soothe away the hurt with his tongue.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, turning back to the boat. But not to work. Gibbs braced his hands on the cabin roof and just leaned, his head hung down.

The stairs creaked a momen. “Did you even realize you’d taken the rifle to bed?”

Tony was close. Gibbs could feel the heat radiating from him, even through two layers of cloth. “No,” Gibbs said, voice hoarse. “Not until… I woke….”

Hands rested on Gibbs’ hips and warm pressure leaned into his back. Tony… touching… If he leaned back…

“I can’t—” Tony’s voice cut off in a strangled squawk. “Boss…” Tony’s weight leaned heavier into Gibbs. “Come to bed.”

“Tony…” Gibbs sucked in a deep breath, leaning back into Tony’s warmth.

“Just to sleep. I need it. You need it. And I don’t think I can let you out of my sight right now.” Warm breath soaked through Gibbs’ shirts as Tony let out a soft sob. “I can’t….”

He didn’t have to say it. Gibbs could imagine it just fine. What could easily have happened last night. And it scared him shitless.

“Can you…?” There were so many ways Gibbs could end that. So many ways he wanted to. “Put that away and meet me upstairs.” Gibbs pointed at the rifle before stalking up the stairs. He walked well around it, a foolish, unnecessary move. But he couldn’t touch it. He could barely stand to touch his service piece, still clipped to his belt. This morning he’d almost thrown up putting it on.

That morning hadn’t been the first time he’d gone to bed with a gun. Tony and he had both sometimes slept with one under the pillow during a bad case. But Gibbs had never before woken up with his finger on the trigger and the barrel pointed at his own head. Not even after Shannon and Kelly died.

When Gibbs got upstairs to the bedroom, before he changed into a soft pair of sweatpants, he put his gun in the bedside drawer. Safely out of reach.

Curling up around Tony in shifter form was much more comfortable than curling up around a rifle. Gibbs savored every inch of warm fur as he fell asleep.

~o0o~

Tony didn’t know if it was a sound, a feeling, or his gut that woke him. When his eyes blinked open, the room was dark, the house was silent, Gibbs was sleeping — and Tony’s ruff was standing on end. 

Flicking an ear, Tony tried to figure out what had dragged him from his much needed slumber. Because he was exhausted, but that uneasy feeling wasn’t going away. He clenched his jaw to hold in the urge to growl. Something was wrong. His head didn’t know what, but his gut sensed trouble. Somehow. But what…?

A soft creak, the kind you get when someone is walking very, very carefully, echoed through the framing. Tony knew that sound. He’d made it often enough when sneaking in to see Gibbs, or heard Gibbs make it when coming home late and knowing Tony was above. That creak was the soft board on the second step.

Someone else was in the house.

~o0o~

Gibbs woke up slow, something niggling at him. A sound? Maybe. 

He shifted, rolling a little, but froze when Tony’s toenails dug into his thigh.

Oddly enough, in all the months of sleeping together with Tony shifted, Gibbs couldn’t recall a single time Tony’s claws had come out. Gibbs had trimmed Shannon’s regularly to save his skin, but it had never been necessary with Tony.

So it was on purpose.

Tony’s foot shoved slightly, toward the wall. Gibbs shifted a little, and got a firmer nudge. Gibbs shifted more, letting himself roll toward the edge of the bed, rustling the blankets, causing the mattress to creak. Tony had bitched that Gibbs should get a better mattress, one with newer springs and a foam top so it didn’t make so much noise. Tonight Gibbs wished he had, hearing as Tony slithered off the bed, the few resulting sounds covered by Gibbs’ movements.

A board creaked in the hallway. The one Gibbs had intentionally introduced a squeak into so Kelly would never be able to sneak out at night. It had allowed him to catch Diane sneaking around on him, though it had never gotten a chance to perform its original purpose.

Tonight, that sound clued Gibbs in to what his gut had been hinting at. Someone else was in his house.

Fuck, where had he left his gun?

~o0o~

Tony struggled to stay silent, not to growl in his tension and fear. Shifting would help with that, but meeting a housebreaker while naked did not appeal. If a coworker, it would be impossible to explain. If trouble, well claws and teeth would be more of an advantage than hands.

Gibbs might have creaky floorboards throughout his home, but the bedroom floor was solid. So once Tony was off the bed, nothing gave away his movement toward the half closed door to the hall. The room was only dimly lit by the stars outside and the digital clock on the bedside table. Plenty of shadows to hide in. Tony chose the one by the dresser, next to the door. And waited.

And considered. No way Coltrain would be slinking around again. Fornell? No, he’d announce himself from downstairs. As would Ziva or any of Gibbs’s old pack. Jenny, however, Tony could imagine slinking up to surprise Gibbs in bed.

But she would not lead with a gun, like the one that came from the hall, the end of the barrel used to nudge the door open.

Tony didn’t wait for the door to open fully. He snarled and lunged.

~o0o~

Gibbs threw himself on the floor when he heard Tony snarl.

The gun went off as he landed, bullet digging a furrow in the floor visible under the bed.

He yanked on the bedside drawer from the bottom, cursing himself for not installing cheap drawer slides. He couldn’t get at his gun from shelter.

Tony continued to snarl. Sounds of a tussel. A deep voice cursing.

The gun fired again.

A yelp of pain and the scrabble of claws running down the hallway.

Gibbs hoped like hell that Tony was going for help.

~o0o~

Tony’s side burned, but he didn’t think he’d been more than grazed. The blood on his teeth assured him he’d done more damage than that in return.

He ran down the stairs, trying to remember where he’d left his clothes. And his gun.

_Hang on, Gibbs._

~o0o~

“You picked me out when we were at Starbucks,” Gibbs called out, studying the feet he could see faintly beyond the bed. He didn’t have to see the bastard’s face to be sure who he was.

Dark laughter echoed through the room and the feet took a step forward. “And you’re the demon who likes his coffee as black as his heart.”

Gibbs slipped along the side of the bed toward the footbard, then let his foot protrude past the end of the bed. If it were out of sight—

The crack of the gun firing was followed by the warmth of a bullet passing just beyond Gibbs’s skin. He pulled his foot back and slithered back toward the center of the bed. Not that the bed made a good shield. He’d never before wished he’d installed a metal plate under his bed, but tonight...

“I always knew you demons were monsters.” The feet stepped closer. “But I never thought I’d meet one so depraved as to fuck another in their animal form.” Another bang. The bedside table developed a hole. “Is it bestiality if you’re both demons?”

“We’re not demons,” Gibbs said, slithering closer to the bed to stay out of sight. He needed his gun. But to get it, he needed a distraction. He couldn’t fit under the bed, but if he could brace himself, get some leverage—If the killer came a little closer—

More laughter. “You are a demon. You, and your cowardly lover.”

The next bullet penetrated the mattress and split the floor next to Gibbs’s hand.

“After I send you back to Hell, I will send him after you. Will I find him cowering downstairs, do you think?”

The feet stepped closer.

~o0o~

It took Tony far too long to remember that his clothes were on the dresser. In the bedroom.

_Fuck!_

Tony knew where every creak in Gibbs’s house was. He’d made a hell of a racket going downstairs. Hopefully their killer thought he ran. Instead, Tony slunk back up on silent paws, then down the hall.

“I think I’ll check the basement first,” a dark voice growled from inside the bedroom as Tony came to the door. “After I kill—”

A snarl worthy of a shifter rose from beneath the bed, the bed that then lurched sideways, slamming into the legs of the man standing beside it.

The man, the murderer, threw his hands out, falling forward across the mattress. Tony stopped breathing as the killer of shifters fell toward Gibbs, the alpha now exposed as he knelt up, tugging at the bedside drawer.

With a deep growl, Gibbs yanked harder.

Tony paced forward into the room, his growl an undertone to Gibbs’s, as the killer scrabbled for the gun that had slipped from his hand.

The drawer still hadn’t opened when the killer reclaimed his gun and slid off the bed, settling on his knees, gun raised.

Tony saw red.

~o0o~

Gibbs knew his gambit had failed when the drawer didn’t open under his first tug. The bullet must have damaged something in the slide.

He should have lunged for the gun on the mattress. _Getting old, Gunny._ He heard the words in Mike Frank’s voice as the gun was turned on him.

One more futile pull on the drawer. Then the gun—

Never fired.

A savage snarl drew all attention across the room an instant before Tony landed. His paws slammed down on the arm holding the gun even as the killer turned to adjust his aim. There was no second chance as Tony’s teeth sank into the throat before them.

The serial killer might have survived with massive scarring, maybe a chipped vertebrae. If he hadn’t turned. The angle of his throat meant Tony’s jaw went right around his jugular, and Tony’s anger meant he went straight through the soft tissue. Gibbs knew instantly the bite was fatal.

_Good._

~o0o~

When Tony’s vision cleared, Gibbs had his hands buried in Tony’s ruff and the taste on his tongue was absolutely disgusting.

And there was something stuck in his teeth.

And a body lying in front of him.

With its throat torn out.

“Don’t shift,” Gibbs ordered even as Tony turned away, stomach convulsing.

Tony didn’t shift. Barely. He did bolt for the bathroom and emptied what little was in his stomach into the open toilet.

~o0o~

Gibbs found Tony sprawled across the bathroom floor, shivering violently.

“It’s okay, Tony,” Gibbs said, sitting down next to his second and running his hand through brown fur. “You did good.”

Tony’s head came up with a confused look. His jaw gaped open and his lips pulled back from his teeth. Normally it would be an expression of aggression. Now…

“Yeah, it’s disgusting.” Gibbs slid down onto the floor and wrapped his arm around Tony. “You saved my life,” he whispered.

They lay there for a few minutes, Gibbs shivering against the cold tile and Tony taking heaving breaths. Finally, the cold was too much and with a huff, Gibbs sat up. He brushed a hand over Tony’s side.

Tony flinched.

“Damn it, DiNozzo. Did he get you?”

Huffing himself, Tony rolled over onto his side. It was hard to tell through the blood liberally sprayed everywhere, but it looked like there was a furrow through Tony’s fur across his ribs.

“Let Ducky look at you before you shift,” Gibbs ordered.

Tony barked and tapped his nose against Gibbs’s wrist.

“Called him while you were heaving. And the team.” Gibbs sighed, looking back toward his room. The crime scene. “We’re gonna have a hell of a time explaining this one.”


	11. Chapter 11

After the events of the last few days, Tony really wondered how the hell Gibbs could stand to sleep in his home without the doors locked. He’d been tempted to add another lock to his apartment after waking up to a serial killer in the halls, and if he and Gibbs got back together, there would be a serious talk about the locks. Hell, that talk should have taken place after Ari.

And Tony shoved all those thoughts aside, because thinking about Ari made him pissy and thinking about being with Gibbs made him… Well, it wasn’t an appropriate state to be in when in a conference room with the directors of two different law enforcement divisions.

“Well, you’ve had two days since Gibbs so inconveniently killed our suspect,” Jenny said with dry sarcasm. 

“Actually, Director, Tony killed him,” Tim said, and Tony had to resist the urge to bury his head in his hands.

“Pardon?” She glared at Tim for a moment before turning her attention to Tony.

“Gibbs’s dog, Tony,” Ziva said, getting her own glare. “You remember Tony. You met him that time…”

“Ah,” Jenny said. “Have we done anything about that dog?”

“He saved my life, Jen,” Gibbs said. 

“He’s a killer,” Jenny said.

“Perhaps you could save this argument for later,” Dave Mitchell, Director of the FBI said.

Jenny huffed. “Very well. As I was saying, you’ve had two days since our prime suspect ended up dead. What have you found?”

Tony shared a look with Tim and let the geek take the reigns. Tim clicked the remote and a picture of Gregory Peck’s suspect sketch appeared on the screen on the wall. 

“This is the man who attacked Gregory Peck and killed Richard Peck,” Tim said, then clicked his remote again. A picture appeared next to the sketch. They looked a lot alike “And this is Dwain Jacobs. Former private in the Marines, dishonorably discharged two years ago for brutally assaulting Corporal Joseph Conroy.”

“I hope we have more than a sketch,” Jenny snapped.

“Well, he did attack Gibbs,” Tony snapped right back.

“We got a warrant for Mr. Jacob’s home based on his attack on Special Agent Gibbs,” Tim said quickly, before Jenny could respond. “We found a large gun collection.”

“Including all of the guns used in murders believed done by the serial killer who attacked Mr. Peck,” Abby said. “And a few that might lead us to other murders.”

“More murders?” Jenny said, almost sounding shocked.

“There are holes in our pattern, so far,” Gibbs said. “He appeared to be aiming for a kill every other week, alternating current military and ex-military.”

“Until Mr. Peck survived,” Ziva said. “Then he began evolving.”

“Devolving,” Tony corrected. “As evidenced by his overkill with Mrs. Anderson and the kidnapping of Corporal Anderson.”

“Have we found any sign of the Corporal?” Director Mitchell asked, his tone kindly. Tony hid a smirk. This was all a show for Jenny. Mitchell knew exactly what happened to Anderson.

“His blood was found at his house,” Abby said with a sad shake of her head.

“We aren’t going to find anything,” Gibbs snapped. “Jacobs was obsessed with destroying those he considered to be demons.”

“You can’t know that,” Jenny said. “We haven’t interviewed him. We can’t interview him.”

“He told me as much while he was pointing a gun at me.” Gibbs glared hard at her. If Tony had been on the other end of that, he’d have been cowering. He wasn’t sure if the lack of a reaction was a facade or proof that Jenny was stronger than himself.

“That isn’t—”

Tim cut Jenny off. “And we have the testimony of his co-conspirator. Corporal Brad Davis was friends with Jacobs in the Marines. When he finished his hitch, he got a job at a credit check company. Jacobs would identify those he thought were demons during his shift at Starbucks and get credit information. He would give it to Davis who ran the names and credit card numbers to get addresses.”

“Davis is a nutpot,” Ziva said.

“Crackpot,” Tony and Tim muttered simultaneously.

“Whatever,” Ziva snapped. “He insisted that he and Jacobs were cleansing the world of demons. Jacobs would identify them and Davis would locate them so Jacobs could hunt them down.”

“Davis’s lawyer is already pushing for an insanity defense,” Gibbs said, almost growling. Tony understood. He wanted Davis dead almost as badly as he had Jacobs. But to protect the shifter community, it was better to let the world think Jacobs was crazy for hunting down people who could shapeshift.

“They thought they were hunting demons,” Jenny said dryly. “What is this, an episode from that TV show?”

Gibbs looked confused, but Abby giggled. Tony had to think a moment, but then he remembered seeing ads for a new show about two demon hunting brothers. He hadn’t had time to check it out. So how did Jenny know about it?

“They’d hardly be the first serial killers with a religious ideation,” Fornell said, finally adding something to the discussion. 

“What matters is that we have stopped them,” Ziva said.

Tony sighed softly. It had taken far too long, but yes, no more shifters would die.

~o0o~

“All right, now I want the real story,” Director Mitchell said once they were safely ensconced in Abby’s lab with the cameras adjusted.

Gibbs leaned back against the bench and waved a hand at Tim.

“Dwain Jacobs was born as part of a pack in Montana. I spoke with his grandfather, who reported his father was unknown. His mother, Mary, ran off to the big city and came back knocked up.”

“A direct quote,” Tony cut in.

Tim smiled a little and continued. “She apparently never told her father about her time away from the ranch. I did do a check in the police records, but if it was rape, she never reported it.”

Gibbs glanced at Fornell and caught a faint wince.

“Dwain was raised as part of the pack, but never shifted. It’s not clear how welcome he was, but when he turned eighteen, he joined the Marine Corps.”

“You and I both know how welcome he probably was,” Fornell said pointedly, and Tim nodded.

“Well, somewhere along the line he lost it, because he attacked Corporal Conroy, accusing him of being a demon.”

“Was Conroy a shifter?” Director Mitchell asked.

“Yes,” Gibbs said. He’d called his contacts, and once he had names, there had been plenty to report. Which had resulted in him giving them a blistering for not reporting Jacobs was a risk. There had been enough brass who knew he was a danger that someone should have done something. Or at least mentioned his name when Gibbs put the word out. “As is Neal.”

“But he is also Detective Coltrain’s son,” Abby cut in.

“Who will be going away for obstruction of justice and a few other charges,” Fornell promised darkly.

“Good.” Gibbs didn’t hide the satisfaction he felt at hearing that.

“But, Coltrain isn’t a shifter,” Abby protested.

“No one knows exactly how shifting is passed on,” Gibbs said.

“And Mrs. Conroy is a shifter,” Tim said. “Half and half are shifters a fair percentage of the time.”

“Back to the point,” Director Mitchell said just loudly and firmly enough to cut the geek talk short. “Jacobs identified shifters during his shifts at Starbucks?”

“And would cover shifts at other stores to observe a wider portion of the population,” Abby said. “We got the store managers to share their schedules for the last six months, and every time he killed, between two and six weeks earlier he worked in a nearby Starbucks.”

“And we cross referenced the credit card statements of the victims,” Tim said. “They all used a card while Jacobs was on shift.”

“His coworkers say he liked running the register,” Tony added. “Apparently most people prefer making coffee to handling money, so they loved sharing shifts with him.”

“Though most were not otherwise fond of him,” Ziva said. “He was considered… strange.”

“How did he identify Gibbs?” Fornell asked.

Gibbs growled. The timeline sickened him. “He served the Andersons, snuck into the base on his lunch break, murdered them, and went back to work.”

“Where he served Gibbs coffee when we stopped on the way to the murder site,” Tony added, his voice tight and his teeth gritted. “I knew he looked familiar…”

“We had all been in and out of that Starbucks for the last six months,” Tim cut in. “It was on the way to any site, interview, or whatever on base.”

“Fascinating,” Director Mitchell said. “Quite a bit of coincidental timing. Agent Fornell tells me you probably would have identified Jacobs the next morning.”

That got wry grins and nods from everyone in the room. This case was one for the record books for a number of reasons, some of which could even be shared with the general public.

“Well.” Director Mitchell clapped his hands together, straightening up from his slouch against the wall. “Thank you all for your fine work. And Agent DiNozzo, my sincere and personal thanks for taking that bastard out.”

Tony blushed a pleasant shade of rose and Gibbs found himself fighting back the urge to crowd closer.

“I’m trying to remember it’s good, and not how he tasted,” Tony admitted wryly. Since Gibbs had been watching him floss almost hourly and gargle mouthwash several times a day, he knew that was more true than the shifter wanted to admit.

“I heard you were injured,” Director Mitchell said.

Tony pressed a hand to his grazed side. It had taken a few stitches after splitting further upon shifting back to human. Tony wouldn’t be going wolf for a few weeks. “I’m fine. Just clipped me.”

Ziva scoffed, but there was unease in her eyes. She had been there, watching the blood sheet across his skin as he shifted and Ducky tried to staunch it. Gibbs had a feeling it would be a bit before she managed to dissociate from that experience.

“Nothing bad enough to bench him, at least,” Gibbs added.

Mitchell chuckled. “Well, good work, both of you. And DiNozzo, if you ever want to switch things up—”

Gibbs growled at him. “He’s not going anywhere.”

Tony stepped closer to Gibbs, head slightly tilted away from his alpha. “I’m happy with NCIS,” Tony said. “But thank you very much for the offer.”


End file.
